A Little Courage
by chelsietea
Summary: After the death of her son, Isobel finds comfort in Richard and, as their relationship blossoms, Charles tries to take up his courage to sort things out with Elsie. Set after the third season Christmas Special. Charles/Elsie, Richard/Isobel.
1. Embracing Changes

_**Hi everybody! This is my first attempt to write something Downton Abbey related - if you like or don't like something feel free to write a message or leave a review.**_  
_**All my thanks go to the lovely ms-obsessive-compulsive (on Tumblr) for beta-reading!**_

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**Chapter One: Embracing Changes**

He kicked a pebble out of his way as he walked to Crawley House.  
It was a lovely morning, the sky was bright blue and the sun shone despite the chilly air. The birds sang and the flowers had started sprouting up from the ground: spring was coming.

It was as if the world wanted to cheer him up…but nothing could cheer him up, not really, not when he was going to visit the woman he cared about. The _only_ woman he cared about.

They had seen each other after Lady Mary gave birth, when he had tried to apologize and she had shrugged all off simply giving him a smile, saying she didn't know what he was talking about - she simply understood, she always had.

He hadn't had the chance to see her during the funeral or soon after and, when he finally had the occasion, even if gloomy, the sight he had been confronted with had been terrible.

She had always been a strong woman, but she was in such a state he couldn't help but worry - of course, she had just lost her son, but he really wasn't accustomed to seeing her like that.

She was tidy and impeccable as usual, but her eyes were red and puffy, her complexion more pale than ever and, to a closer observer, her cheeks appeared hollow because of the tears she had shed.

He hadn't had the slightest idea of what to do, he simply tried to convey in the best way possible how much he was concerned about her: he had tried to be warm, polite and careful about her feelings. She appeared so frail, so small; the iron lady suddenly transformed into a porcelain doll.

Since then, he had started coming round at her house every morning after his early rounds at the hospital. The first time he went to offer his formal condolences for her son's death he had intended to remain there for what was strictly necessary; he hadn't wanted to disturb or annoy her in any way but she, instead, had asked him to stay for a bit longer than he should have. He ended up visiting her again the day after, concerned about her well-being.

Now, here he was again, knocking lightly on the front door and, after a few minutes, Molesley came to answer.

"Good morning, Doctor Clarkson. How are you today?"

"Quite fine, Mr Molesley, thank you. How is Mrs Crawley doing?"

"As would be expected. She's in the drawing room, I think."

Molesley led him through the hallway in the same way he did every day, as if Richard might forget where the drawing room was.

"Doctor Clarkson here to see you, Mrs Crawley."

"Thank you, Molesley, show him in."

She was sitting on the settee with her back to him, probably embroidering.

"Good morning, Mrs Crawley," he greeted.

"Good morning, Doctor Clarkson," she replied politely, glancing up at him from her work. "I hope your rounds went well."

"They did, thank you."

They remained in silence for a few seconds, he was not sure how to continue the conversation and Molesley's presence didn't help the awkwardness.

She looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of the butler standing in the doorway.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked Richard.

"Oh no, thank you," Richard replied hastily.

Molesley bowed slightly and exited, closing the door after him.

She offered him a little smile before resuming her work in silence, now used to see him every day.

He took a seat next to her on the settee. They had recently grown closer, and neither of the two thought it inappropriate to sit like that, so close to one another…they were grown up people, right? The most important thing is that they were friends, good friends, there was nothing improper in that.

He observed her work of needle and thread. Molesley had mentioned that she started it the day after Matthew's death.

He never thought of her as a woman interested in embroidery or sewing, not that she wasn't able to, she obviously managed well, but he had always thought of her as an independent woman with strong beliefs and different interests from the ones of the ladies upstairs in Downton Abbey.  
He never thought she would actually spend her time embroidering but he wasn't bothered by this. He couldn't take his eyes off of her hands as they worked, or off of her lips as they moistened the thread to thread it into the eye of the needle.

She didn't seem to notice how he followed her every expert movement with his eyes, how he bent slightly forward when they started making conversation.

"It's getting on very well, isn't it?"

She turned her head away from her work, rather surprised. "I didn't know you were interested in embroidering, Doctor Clarkson."

He chuckled at her remark and she smiled a little.

"I am not," he replied, "but my mother was very good; she used to tell me stories while sewing or embroidering, when I was a child."

"Did she?" she asked, continuing her work without looking at him.

"She did, and what stories she told me! There was one I liked in particular…"

She looked up at him, encouraging him to continue.

"I don't think it would be proper for a lady," he said rather sheepishly.

"It was a proper story for a child, why not for a lady?" Her voice was stern, but her eyes teasing.

"Maybe another time," he suggested. She looked slightly disappointed.

"As you wish, Doctor Clarkson."

"I wish you would call me Richard," he spoke, almost exasperated by her use of formalities.

She stared at him, not hiding her surprise.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Crawley, I spoke without thinking," he said quickly, worried by her shock.

"No, that's fine," she smiled. "I'll call you Richard if you call me Isobel."

He smiled, "Well then. Isobel." He repeated her name softly, savoring the sound of it on his lips.

She looked down at her hands with a bashful smile and he couldn't help but think that maybe things would change for the better... he might help her through her misery and, why not, take part in her life. He would like that very much.

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	2. Unspoken

**Good afternoon, readers! I just wanted to thank you all for your reviews and your support, it's really appreciated. Hope you'll like this chapter as well :)**

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**Chapter Two: Unspoken**

The clatter of spoons and forks and the quiet chatter resounded in the servant's hall that morning as Daisy entered quietly with a big bowl of porridge and started serving it with a wooden ladle.

The whole room was humming with the excitement that precedes a departure; the family was going to London for a few weeks and, as per usual, some of the staff was going with them.

The Crawleys had decided it inappropriate to stay in London for the whole season due to the recent death of Matthew.

Lady Mary was strong, but his death had left her distraught. The family thus thought it appropriate to spend a little time in London to distract her.

Elsie brought a spoonful of porridge to her mouth with reluctance. Her stomach was sour and her insides felt intricately woven into knots; she could barely eat.

In front of her, O'Brien was mumbling under her breath, clearly cross about leaving. The season was tiring for every servant, but even more so for a ladies' maid. O'Brien grumbled every year. Anna was talking cheerfully to Mr Bates; they were both excited to leave. It was their first season since the wedding, and even though it would give them little opportunity to spend time together, after his year in prison they didn't seem to mind so much the…

"How are you this morning, Mrs. Hughes?"

_…separation._

His deep voice startled her. "I'm fine, why do you ask?" She responded.

"You are unnaturally silent today. And not very interested in your porridge either," he pointed out, though a bit of amusement remained in his voice.

She had to bite back a smile; was the man playing her mother now?  
"These are busy days, Mr Carson, I'm just tired."

_Liar._

He gave her a knowing look. "When the family leaves perhaps you can relax a bit."

She nodded, "I think I will, the maids have worked well, after all." She played with the spoon in the porridge bowl; she didn't usually play with her food, her mother had always scolded her. "It's not lady-like" her voice boomed in Elsie's head. But today… today she didn't care.

He noticed her strange behaviour. Not eating was so unlike her, she was a woman of strong appetite and she never wasted or played with food. Something was clearly troubling her and he wanted to discover what it was before he made his departure - he hadn't much time.

Elsie put her spoon down with exasperation. She couldn't eat if she wanted to, there was no reason to pretend.

"Are you sure you are feeling well?" he inquired carefully.

She sighed, keeping herself from rolling her eyes. "I am, Mr Carson, I've already told you. There's nothing for you to worry about."

_Almost nothing._

"It's just… I've never seen you not eating at breakfast," he protested.

"I'm not hungry today, that's all," she said her voice now tinged with annoyance.

_Liar._

He didn't know how to reply, he couldn't force her to eat something, he wasn't her mother, nor her father, nor her… He shook his head imperceptibly; he mustn't think about that, he had no right, no right at all.

_…husband._

She clasped her hands in her lap, not looking at him and chewing the inside of her mouth.

"_It's just a few weeks, you stupid cow, he won't be gone for the whole season_" she thought to herself. She couldn't stop thinking how much she would miss him, she was used to see him every single day… they had grown so much closer this past year…

They had always been friends. But for years their relationship consisted of discussing their work day and they didn't know much of each other. She hadn't known he had been on stage until a few weeks before and he had known very little about her family and her life before Downton. But lately, after her cancer scare, Lady Sybil's death, and then Mr Crawley's… she suddenly found herself seeking (needing) his company. She shuddered at the mere thought of the past year's events. However, she didn't exactly regret everything that had happened… it had brought them closer. He'd lowered his defenses for her, that stern façade behind which he constantly hid. It had given her more courage.

They still faced the same old problems of course. He didn't accept changes freely; he was still struggling to accept the fact that the world wasn't the same after the war, that they weren't the same anymore. Despite that, they'd spent more and more lovely evenings talking to each other after their long and tiring work day had ended. They discussed the running of the household, as they were usually accustomed, but also about their views on that topic or another, about their lives before Downton and their families (even if he always said the Crawleys were the only family he had).

She felt nearer to him than ever before. It was as if that invisible wall she had built to protect herself and avoid jeopardizing her job was crumbling down. She could feel the cracks in every single brick; it was as if he was taking that wall down, brick by brick.

And now she found that she couldn't bear losing him even for a few months. After all they had gone through, she feared that the barrier she hated so much would rebuild itself during his absence because of the distance. And she realized… she wanted him to keep breaking it down. He usually wrote to her but she didn't think he would this time. It was just a few months this time after all (and why would he? She meant nothing to him).

She got up from her seat slowly, and walked back to her parlour, Carson staring at her strangely as she exited.

She stood in the hall, watching the footmen carrying heavy suitcases and keeping a close eye on the maids to assure herself everything was running smoothly in spite of the departure of the family.

After the suitcases were securely packed in the cars, he came upstairs with his coat on and his bowler hat in hand, to join the other servants in their car.

"Well then, Mrs. Hughes, I wish you a pleasant break," he smiled warmly.

He wished he was able to understand the reason of her worry, why she was biting her bottom lip as she usually did when something was bothering her - not that he didn't appreciate her concerned look and the way her teeth tortured her rosy lips, but he would have liked to see her more serene… it irked him that he hadn't discovered the source of her worry, and now he was leaving and it was too late.

"_What is troubling you?_" He thought to himself.

"I don't know how much of a break it will be," she replied, "There's so much to do while the family is away and we have even less time than usual."

"I'm sure you'll manage perfectly well," he stated.

She nodded, smiling slightly, a question on the tip of her tongue.  
"_Will you write?_" But she wouldn't, couldn't say those words.

They remained in silence for a few seconds, but to them it seemed an eternity. They stood there, frozen, looking at each other in the eyes (his dark brown eyes, so beautiful she could lose herself in their depth… her shining blue eyes that turned to grey like the sea water during a tempest…) while a single thought was running in their heads.

_What is troubling you?_

Will you write?

Then he tore his eyes away from hers and cleared his throat, waking her from her reverie.

"I think I should go then."

_Will you write?_

"Of course. Have a good journey."

_What is troubling you?_

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes. Goodbye."

_Will you write?_

He tipped his hat before entering the car and closing the door after him.

Elsie waved her hand at him, Bates, and Anna as the car disappeared down the driveway.

She should have asked him… she didn't think she could bear not hearing from him for that long. She knew she would miss him terribly and she despised herself for not having spoken her thoughts out loud. But then, weren't they accustomed to live exactly like this? To restrain themselves from speaking their minds not only with the family but also between each other?

She sighed, feeling the weight of those unspoken words on her heart.

_Will you write to me, Mr Carson?_

Will you write to me…

Charles?

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	3. An Invitation

**Good afternoon! Just wanted to thank you for being so kind in your reviews, if you made it this far you're really great!**

**I put Richard's flashback in italics because my wonderful beta Ame pointed out it might be best for those of you who have the courage to read this ;)**

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**Chapter Three: An Invitation**

Aside from the slow ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, one could hear a pin drop in the room.  
He shifted uncomfortably on the settee; Isobel, on the other hand, was embroidering quietly, a slight frown on her forehead as she concentrated.

She had improved considerably the past few months, the embroidery seemed to help the pain. A sudden fleeting thought flashed into his mind, and he briefly wondered (hopefully) if his presence could be bringing her some comfort too.

_When Molesley had led him to the drawing room for the first time she had been sitting on the same settee, her eyes fixed intently on the embers in the fireplace. She hadn't welcomed him nor even shown that she had recognized him - her exterior appeared hard and cold; her body as useless as a broken toy and almost as lifeless.  
_  
_After Molesley left them, Richard had spoken briefly, offering his sympathy, but she barely acknowledged what he said. He wanted a reaction out of her, any reaction! He made a split second decision: something improper and unnecessary. "The devil with propriety", he thought, "this woman needs someone to shake her out of her trance…i want her to feel again."_

"How are you, Mrs. Crawley?" He had asked quietly, kneeling in front of her, "How are you, truly?"

She looked away from the embers, the heat still in her gaze. It quickly transformed into a cold one.

Despite her cold face, her voice had been hoarse with emotion when she started speaking. "How am I supposed to feel, Dr Clarkson? My son died a week ago, leaving my young daughter in law and my newborn grandson behind, how am I supposed to feel?" Her tone had transformed into an icy one that matched her face. It made him shiver. Despite that, he had continued to watch her intently, deciding not to reply.

"How am I supposed to feel now that my only reason to live, to go on, is… gone?" She put all her best efforts in making her tone even. "Now that my only bond to my husband is gone?", she had added, raising her voice a bit.

"Do you have the slightest idea of what I actually feel? No, you don't, Dr Clarkson, you don't because you do not have children and you aren't a woman, a mother - you are a man and men have the misfortune (or fortune in this case) not to experience these feelings. Nothing compares to a mother's love, Dr Clarkson. Nothing." Her voice had cracked on her last words, then she had lowered it until it was barely a murmur. "Please, avoid asking such questions."

"You're right. I don't understand and I never will", he had whispered, tearing his eyes away from her and looking out of the window.

He had upset her, of course, but she had the chance to give vent to her feelings, hadn't she?

Richard had understood she wasn't utterly lifeless; she still had a spark of life, of heat, a poor reflection of what she had been before - then he had heard a sob and his heart cracked in two.

He had turned to find her crying silently, her shoulders slumped and her back raising rhythmically to match her sobs. He had made his way to the settee, and sat down next to her. "Mrs Crawley, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"I know you didn't mean it, Doctor. I know you'd never cause any harm," she had interrupted him between her tears. "It's just… it's so hard, Dr Clarkson. I've always been the strong one, especially when Reginald died…I had to be strong for Matthew, my darling boy… and now he's gone and I don't have anyone to be strong for anymore! I have no one who needs me… he's gone and I'm still here." Her voice cracked again, the pain now etched into the lining of her face.

"I need you", screamed a voice in his head. It literally broke his heart to see her so vulnerable, so fragile, this iron lady who never hesitated, nor faltered… and there she was, with her hollow eyes and miserable countenance.

He couldn't help but feel flattered that she had chosen him as her confidant, that she had allowed to see her breakdown. He felt special, in a way, because she had opened up with him and had talked so freely about her feelings. But he also knew he had to be careful and treat her with the utmost respect… she_ was the fragile one now._

"Please forgive my stupid question. Forgive me."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Dr Clarkson. I know you didn't mean it," she had repeated.

He would have liked to be swallowed by the earth on the spot. No, he hadn't meant it, but he had actually hurt her with his question. "It makes me feel much better to apologize," he had managed to reply. "I didn't intend to hurt you, but I admit…it makes me glad to see you expressing your feelings."

"Thank you for that."

"You shouldn't thank me, Mrs Crawley. I'd like very much to help you, if I can." 

_He had instantly regretted what he had said: she would think him too forward, what he had implied was too improper, he had no right to say that, they had only spent a few nights together and she had turned him down. She could slap him in the face and he would accept it gladly. He mentally cursed himself._

Isobel had looked at him with uncertainty and he had opened his mouth to apologize but she had interrupted him by putting her hand over his. The contact had made his hand tingle…he had hoped she hadn't noticed it. He had searched her eyes for a hint of acknowledgment but they only showed warmth and pleasant surprise.

"I don't know how much you could help me, Doctor," she had answered, "I'm probably past help… I've reached a point of no return" her voice changed to one of slight jest.

"No one is past help, Mrs. Crawley, not even you. You just need to…" he had searched for an appropriate word, "get used to this," he had opened his arms to indicate her loss, the emptiness left by her son.

A shadow had passed in her brown eyes, "I don't think I'll ever get used to it, Doctor. One can never get used to the death of their son."

"Maybe not, but you can learn to live with the pain." He didn't know how to convey what he meant: allow me _to help you, let _me_ ease your pain, I'd take care of you…_

The corner of her mouth had lifted upwards and she had murmured, "Maybe".

The sound of her voice brought him out of his memories. She was looking at him intently, slightly amused, "Doct… Richard, where are you? You seem miles away." She smiled at her own mistake in addressing him.

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"I was saying that the family is leaving today." She finished.

"The Crawleys?"

She nodded, "They're going to London".

He looked at her in surprise, "But… I thought…"

"I know what you thought and they thought it as well until a few weeks ago. But removing Mary from Downton for a little while might distract her with the hustle and bustle of the big city."

"Yes, perhaps it will bring her some comfort. How long are they going to stay there?" He questioned.

"Just two months, they'll return here in May. You know they usually stay there from February till July. They might prolong their stay if they think it appropriate."

"Are you not going with them?" He asked, slightly confused.

She was completely taken aback by his question. What should she say? She started to say she simply hadn't wanted to leave, even if they had invited her to go with them. But… but then he would ask why.  
And what could she say?

She couldn't speak the truth, could she? She searched frantically for a proper answer in her head.

The first thing that came to her mind was: "_I didn't leave because I feel better here_".  
"_Yeah, this is perfect, you prefer staying at Downton, despite Matthew's memories haunting you. Oh, please_", a voice pointed out in her head.

"_I didn't leave because I feel better here, with my friends near me_," she considered responding.  
"_What friends? You have no friends. You only had Matthew, he was your only bond to the family. You're nothing to them now, they're just being polite because they pity you_," the nasty voice spoke up again.

She knew what the truth was.  
"_I didn't leave because I feel better since you started coming round every morning. I feel better because of you_".

She couldn't speak the truth. She had refused him once and he was there only as a friend. Nothing less, nothing more. He was kind enough for that.

"Well, I guess… I guess I didn't feel it proper. I'm not really a part of the family", she answered in the truest way she could.  
"Matthew was my only bond to the Crawleys. Now that he's gone…I don't have the same place with them anymore."

No, he didn't know what she meant, because to him she couldn't be more in the right place. There, in that moment, with him…that was all that mattered.

"So you decided to stay home."

She sighed inwardly, very relieved that he hadn't chosen to inquire any further. "Yes, I did."

"Well then, I can't say I'm not pleased about it," he ventured.

She smiled a little in response and her heart fluttered in her chest. _Sweet man.  
_  
He looked briefly at his own pocket watch and frowned. "Time flies. I'm sorry but I really must be on my way."

She nodded, understanding his reason, although she was a bit disappointed, "Of course."

"_Ask him_," screamed a voice in her head. "_You're just friends, aren't you? So there's nothing improper. Ask him._"

He stood up and she followed him out of the room, leaving her embroidery on the settee. He put on his coat, took his hat from the hall stand and opened the front door.

"_Ask him._"

"I'd better be off, then," he announced with a smile.

"_Ask him._"

She took a deep breath, before asking, "Why don't you come round for dinner?"

He turned and looked at her in silence for a brief moment, which to her seemed an eternity. His countenance was indecipherable.  
Then he spoke, "It would be my greatest pleasure. Thank you."

She almost sighed aloud in relief and half-smiled. "How about Friday at seven?"

"Perfect. See you tomorrow," he concluded before tipping his hat and making his way to the gate, feeling her eyes on his back as he walked away.

Isobel leaned on the door and watched him intently, her heart beating faster than ever. "_Oh Isobel, girl, you're getting into trouble._" She thought to herself.

It was going to be a very interesting night.

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**Thaaaaank you very much for your reviews. Because you were going to review, weren't you?**


	4. Non Plus Ultra

**Hi darlings! I'm awfully sorry about the delay but I'm a bit busy (and stressed) because of school final tests and, you know, all those bad things that one does at school... I hope you can forgive me.**

**Here's the fourth chapter, a Chelsie one. The title comes from Latin, it means "No Further". According to mythology it was written on the Pillars of Hercules, which signaled the end of the known world. **

**Enjoy our babies having dirty - err, angsty thoughts about each other. I'm sorry we didn't go much further from the first CarsonxHughes chapter but I promise that next chapter will focus on Richobel dinner and on their side things will proceed well :)**

**My thanks go to Angie (fantasy-fallacy-tumblingstone on Tumblr) for beta-reading while Ame is in Florida for the rest of the week. You're precious dear, thank you!**

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**Chapter Four: Non Plus Ultra**

Charles stared at the sheet of paper. It seemed to glance back at him, challenging him to write something down.

He grabbed his pen, the one Lord Grantham had given him for Christmas, the one he used only to write letters, to write to her.

He liked the way its sharp nib wrote, the way the ink flowed down on the sheet and the contrast between the black liquid and the creamy white colour of the paper.

He had felt the urge to write to her as soon as they were on the train but he couldn't. What would she think of him?

He surely couldn't act like a lovesick schoolboy, could he?

He had never been much of a romantic person. Even in his days on stage, days he preferred to forget (he often lived as if they never existed, but sometimes they just bubbled up the surface of his thoughts) he had always kept his feelings to himself, he had never allowed himself to behave foolishly.

Of course, he had had a few flirts, but he had never declared his love so freely as Grigg used to, especially when very drunk, whenever he bedded a girl.

He hadn't been a saint himself, he had to admit, but he had always been reserved, almost shy in showing his feelings openly... even now, that he had been working with her for so long and he knew her quite well, he couldn't bring himself to declare what he felt for her.

He had struggled for a long time to keep himself from thinking about her or having strange and preposterous ideas about loving her, he _hadn't_ fallen in love with her, no sir, he hadn't.

Yes, he had. And once he had actually considered this, there was no going back.

He thought of her day and night (when he struggled to keep his thoughts as proper as he could and not always succeeded) and he tried very hard not to look a fool when she was around, he tried not to be caught while staring at her with wonder, he tried to make his brushes against her arms appear casual, but he couldn't force himself not to love her.

He had thought that he could live without admitting himself that he loved her, but he couldn't. Now he thought that he could live without telling her... and he _had to_. He could bear not having her properly for all his life, he could bear not calling her _his_.

He was disposed to reach this compromise, it was a _non plus ultra_, a barrier he couldn't cross, a wall he couldn't destroy completely, but he was willing to live like this.

He didn't even dare to call give her a name in his thoughts, to call her Elsie.

Was he a fool? Probably.

Was he a coward? Most certainly.

Was he in love? Definitely.

He hadn't written to her during his journey then and he hadn't had a chance to sit for a moment and grab his pen to write for quite a long time. Two weeks had passed since he last saw her and he still hadn't written a single word due to the amount of work to be done.

Not that it was that easy to write to her either. She meant everything to him, she was his favourite colleague, his closest friend, his only... companion, yet he couldn't allow himself to write to her freely, he had to restrain himself or else he would reveal too much in his letters and she would understand. She was smart, she knew him well, sometimes it was like she knew him better than himself.

He couldn't' risk, he _wouldn't_ risk, he tried to be formal but not too much, friendly without letting anything slip.

He wrote every single word carefully, his letters weren't very spontaneous, but he tried to be as truthful and warm as he could, he tried to write something that could remind her of him, all buttoned up even in his letters.

And there he was, in the quiet of his London pantry, scrubbing his chin with the end of his pen and thinking desperately of something to write.

_Dear Mrs Hughes,_

_I apologize for not writing to you earlier but the whole staff was busy with the running of the household and the family's nights out, so I wasn't able to settle down and write until now._

_I hope you're doing well, here in London - _

A knock on the door interrupted his writing. "Come in," he called.

Mr Bates's head appeared from the doorway, "I'm sorry, Mr Carson. Lord Grantham said they're having dinner early tonight because they're heading to the theatre later."

He suppressed a grunt. "Of course. Thank you, Mr Bates, I'll ring the dressing gong in a few minutes."

Mr Bates nodded and disappeared in the hallway. He disappointedly dropped his pen and stood up, walking to the door. He turned and glanced briefly at the letter on his desk, with a look of longing on his face.

Mrs Hughes would have to wait a bit more for her letter.

Elsie looked up from her book. She had been reading the same passage over and over for half an hour and was starting to feel annoyed.

She closed her book with a loud sigh, turning her head to glance at the alarm clock on her bedside table: it was well past midnight.

With a groan she lifted her sheets and got up, the feeling of the cold floor under her warm feet made her shiver.

She reached for her dressing gown, put it on and exited silently from her room.

She tiptoed down the stairs and stopped in the hallway, unsure on what to do. She had work to be done in her parlor but she didn't feel like it, besides it was almost one o'clock, she didn't need to work hard even at night, as if she relaxed herself during the day!

Elsie couldn't stop her mind from wondering what he might be doing in London at that moment.

She smiled, he was surely sleeping soundly, at least he was able to.

She couldn't help but figure Charles Carson sleeping, snoring softly, his mouth slightly open, his broad chest rising and falling and that loose curl on his forehead, that she loved so much yet hadn't the chance to see often... she had to admit he made a rather charming picture.

She shook her head, imposing herself not to think about him in that way. How improper of her.

Suddenly warmer than she should have been, she decided to take a walk outside.

Charles almost collapsed in his chair, letting out a relieved breath. It was almost one o'clock in the morning and he was so tired he might as well fall asleep on his desk.

He had had so much work to do he hadn't had a single minute to write his letter and that was the only thing he had in mind for all evening.

Since the Crawleys were out for the night, he had dedicated his time to tasks he couldn't carry out if the family in the house.

He had tried to polish the silver in his pantry (it wasn't as fine as the one at Downton, but still) but he cut his middle finger with a particularly sharp end of one of the trays and started cursing himself under his breath.

_"Damn you, old man, you don't even seem to concentrate on your work if you think of her! You're not some foolish stable boy head over heels in love with a silly kitchen maid! Now put yourself together and do some work!"_

So he had decided to check the wine cellar and he had even managed to drop a bottle of red while going through his list, remembering their evenings together while they sipped the leftover wine of upstairs...

He remembered how she always leaned in to talk to him and he could smell the wine in her breath mixed with the light scent of lemon he couldn't quite figure out where it came from (her hair maybe?).

He was just about to turn the bottle in his hand in order to check the label when he remembered her while drinking wine, her lips always a shade deeper of red after she sipped the liquid, her tongue almost imperceptibly wiping the corners of her moist mouth... she always did it absent-mindedly and she surely wouldn't do it if she knew what it did to him.

While the bottle slipped from his grasp and landed shattering on the stone floor he couldn't help thinking that Elsie Hughes would be the death of him.

Elsie leaned against the cool wall of the bicycle shed, the belt of her gown was loose and her hair cascaded down her shoulder in an untidy braid.

Maybe he wasn't sleeping. Maybe he was out with the family, maybe... she felt herself shudder.

No, she had no right to think about it, he hadn't committed himself to her, they had never been more than friends, as it should be... but her mind wandered, wandered miles away from where she was, wandered where _he_ was and she couldn't help thinking he might have a relationship with a woman, another woman that wasn't _her_.

They were friends indeed, but he wasn't obliged to tell her everything about his life... what if he had a woman? What if... he loved her?

She didn't think she would want to know that.

Elsie knew perfectly well that he wasn't hers and he never would be.

She knew perfectly well that, even if the wall between them was crumbling down, they could never, _would_ never make that one more step, because there was one last impassable barrier that, however hard they (she) might try would never fall... but that couldn't stop her from imagining what her life might have been with him at her side.

She didn't think about children, it was too late for them (although she would have liked to have a girl, maybe even a boy) but she thought of them as a couple, sometimes even as man and wife, sharing a cottage... and not only a cottage.

Sometimes she wondered what he was like under all that clothes. She knew she shouldn't think of him in that way, it wasn't proper at all, but she hadn't much power on her thoughts, not when it came to him.

She wondered if he was muscular as she imagined him to be, a little bit softer than he had been in youth maybe, but still fit.

She imagined his broad chest covered with grey hair, his beautiful, strong arms and how it would be to be held by him at night, to have his warm presence next to her, to listen to his soft snores during the night, to muss his grey hair, to kiss his forehead, his brow, his mouth.

She shook her head to free her mind from those thoughts.

She could actually see it, the thin wall that was between them and always would be, it glistened in the night, shiny and solid, unbreakable.

_Non plus ultra_: it was a warning, yet a challenge to go further.

She knew it would never crumble down, she knew she would never be allowed to kiss him, either his brow, his forehead or his lips, she knew she would never call Charles Carson _hers_... but there was no harm in imagining, in dreaming, was it?

Elsie felt a sudden chill pervading her to the bone.

If she couldn't destroy that wall she would at least try to ease her pain, as she had always done.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the chilly breeze of a spring night, while a voice in her mind whispered:_ "Keep your mind away from him and you'll be safe, lass"._

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**How about leaving a review? Thanks!**


	5. Sweet Unexpected

**And finally here's your fifth chapter! I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but school kept getting in the way and, as soon as it finished, I was always out with my friends, enjoying freedom... but today I've been a good girl and I finished this ****long**** (hopefully you'll forgive my delay because of this) and absurdly difficult to write chapter. I'm pretty satisfied about it and I'd like to know what you think, so don't hesitate to leave me a review, my darlings :)**

**My thanks, as always, but tonight even more, go to Ame (ms-obsessive-compulsive on Tumblr) who has betaread my work even if she works a lot every day. THANK YOU DARL!**

**Tomorrow I'm leaving for Greece and I'm staying there till the 28th. I promise you I'll work a lot on this fanfiction because I love my babies and want them to have a happy ending.**

**Thank you very much for reading, if you still want to after this excessively long note.**

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**Chapter Five: Sweet Unexpected**

It was a bright and sunny day but the air was too chilly for her taste.  
Isobel walked down the street, towards Downton Square to buy some fruits and vegetables for her dinner with Doctor Clarkson that evening.

It was one of the first times she'd left her house after Matthews's death. Apart from Sundays, when she went to church, she had never ventured out.  
Since he had started coming round at her house, though, she felt different.  
She was still gloomy, and her mind still drifted to dark places, but he had managed to bring her some small comforts and make her smile from time to time. The fact that she was out shopping was a marked improvement.

The greengrocer greeted her warmly. "Good morning, ma'am! How is it that Mr. Molesley isn't doing the shopping for you?"

"Today is Mr. Molesley's day off," she cut short with the smallest hint of a smile. "Now, I'd like five of those red apples and…"  
She stopped at the sound of a soft Scottish lilt greeting her. "Good morning, Mrs. Crawley."

She turned, surprised at seeing her there. "Good morning to you, Mrs Hughes," she answered. "What a coincidence seeing you here."

The other woman hid a smile. "Mrs. Patmore asked me if I could do the shopping for the servants at the big house since she's on her half day and Daisy is tending to other household chores."

"I see," Isobel responded politely.

"Isn't Mr. Molesley in charge of doing your shopping, Mrs Crawley?"

"He is, but he's visiting his father today, so I'm doing it myself. I'm still capable of it, you know. Besides I've a guest at dinner tonight." She sounded a little more rude than she meant and winced a bit at her words.

A sparkle of curiosity shone in the housekeeper's eyes but she didn't ask any questions, as she was accustomed. Isobel cursed herself and her big mouth, but Mrs. Hughes only smiled at her. Isobel continued her shopping and paid the greengrocer at the end, trying to act as if she hadn't said anything at all.

Even if the housekeeper guessed who was her guest (not that she had many possibilities) she wasn't a gossip, so her secret could be safe with her. Or so Isobel dearly hoped.

Mrs. Hughes finished shortly after her and followed her down the street, carrying several bags.

"How is the family doing in London?" Isobel asked her.

"Quite well, I suppose."

Isobel looked at her, not hiding her surprise. "Hasn't Mr Carson written to you yet? Don't you two usually write to each other during the season as butlers and housekeepers do?"

Mrs Crawley's words angered Elsie. What was "as butlers and housekeepers do" supposed to mean? Were they obliged to write to each other just because of the roles they fulfilled?

Then she remembered Mrs. Crawley's first question and her heart sank. Just when she had successfully managed to put thoughts of Mr. Carson aside for a bit, they come back to haunt her.  
No, he hadn't written to her, not yet. And he never would, she was sure of it.

A thick curtain of silence fell between them. Sensing the other woman's discomfort and seeing her face suddenly sad and her eyes suddenly interested in the cobbled street, Isobel apologized. "I'm sorry for upsetting you, Mrs. Hughes. I didn't mean to sound impertinent and pry."

Though the other woman _had_ sounded quite nosy, Elsie heard herself say. "No need to worry, Mrs Crawley, really." The woman meant no harm, she was sure of it.

After arriving in front of Crawley House, Isobel turned to her. "Why don't you come round for a visit one of these days? If you'd like of course."

Her request took Elsie aback. She smiled a little, "My half day is next Friday. I'll think about it, thank you."

Isobel nodded, "I hope you'll come, I often find myself growing weary of needlework and book reading. Good company would do me well."  
Elsie walked away waving to her. Mrs. Crawley had been very kind, she thought.  
They had spoken a few times during those nine years and their relationship wasn't perfect (they had always kept their distance, especially Elsie, due to class differences) and they disagreed on many different occasions.

However, Elsie had been moved by Mrs Crawley's invitation. Even if she was going through a particularly difficult moment she had invited her to her house because she had clearly seen something was troubling the housekeeper, and Elsie had to admit she appreciated it.

Maybe they could help each other, although Elsie's problems were less important than Isobel's.  
Thoughts of Charles filled her mind as she walked down to Downton Abbey.  
She shook her head. "Never mind him now, he obviously isn't thinking about you so you shouldn't think of him either," she said aloud to herself.

The sun was already setting when Isobel stirred. She had decided to take a nap that afternoon before getting ready for dinner.  
She yawned and stretched on the sofa, setting her blanket aside and looking at the grandfather clock while rubbing her eyes.

She suddenly jumped up muffling a gasp with her hand. It was half past six already and she hadn't washed her hair yet, nor prepared herself for dinner, nor… a bad smell reached her nose and she let out a terrified squeal, running to the kitchen.

The smell came from the oven, as she feared. She opened it and a black curtain of smoke enveloped her. She coughed several times, shielding herself with her arms and opening the windows as soon as she could.  
"The dinner is ruined!" She cried. Trying to maintain her composure, she ran to the bathroom and prepared a bath.  
After coming out of the bath tub she washed her hair as quickly as she could and started drying it frantically.

If she finished quickly she could come up with something to cook for the Doctor before he arrived… but a knock on the door interrupted her trail of thoughts.  
Suddenly petrified, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was damp, shaggy and excessively curly, its ends left several damp marks on her blouse and made her look untidy.

She snorted and tried to tame it quickly with her brush without result. She wrapped her hair in a towel and put a dressing gown over the wrinkled and damp blouse and skirt she had slept in.  
"You have to face it, Isobel. You just go down and tell Richard you should postpone" she spoke to herself. She squared her shoulders and went down to answer the door.

Richard stood nervously before her front door. He raised his fist to knock again but the door suddenly burst open. In front of him stood Isobel, her face flushed, her hair wrapped in a towel and a dressing gown tied tightly around her, her eyes open wide.  
He stared awkwardly at her, at a loss for words.

"Doctor… Richard," she started, "I'm… I'm terribly sorry to welcome you like this. Please come inside."

He crossed the threshold and she hurriedly closed the door, leaning against the wood.  
He could hear her labored breath and see a blush creep up her neck and cheeks. Richard had never seen a woman more beautiful.

"I… I don't… _oh, damn it_," she swore under her breath, giving up all pretense. "The thing is, Richard, I took a nap while the chicken was cooking in the oven, not intending to oversleep… but I did and now the chicken is burnt and I'm still here with damp hair," she finally confessed.  
"I think that if we could postpone our dinner…" she trailed off. She was mortified and disappointed, he noticed.

Then an idea came to his mind, "Why don't you go and dry your hair while I prepare us something to eat? I'm no great cook but sandwiches will do I think."  
Sensing her hesitation, he added: "I don't mind at all, don't worry."

Isobel thought she could wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless. The man was a genius and so thoughtful.

"All right, then, " she agreed. She showed him the kitchen and headed to the bathroom with a strange flutter in her stomach.

After drying her hair in the best way she could she quickly dressed herself with a light blue blouse and a dark skirt, then she pinned her hair, trying unsuccessfully to fight all the ringlets that framed her face in the most annoying way. Finally giving up after a good twenty minutes, she descended the stairs with a sigh.  
The dinner had already been spoiled by her foolishness, surely a perfect attire could do very little to improve the evening.

Entering the kitchen, she saw that Richard had already prepared the table. He was dressed in a dark informal jacket that matched his trousers and a white shirt.

Hearing her footsteps, he turned. "I prepared some sandwiches with cheese and ham and a bowl of salad, since there were fresh vegetables in the cold store. We also have some fruit. I assume Mr. Molesley went to do your shopping today?"

Isobel blushed a little and looked at her hands, annoyed with herself for her sudden bashfulness. "I went myself," she confessed. "Mr Molesley was on his day off - so I thought a walk would do me good."

He smiled. "I'm glad you went out to enjoy the fresh air. You should do it more often."

She looked suddenly up at him. "I know and I'll try to. I… I went out today thanks to you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I wanted to do some shopping for tonight's dinner, to make it special. But I burnt the chicken and now…"

He reached her in two strides and gently put his hands on her arms. "I don't mind how this evening has turned out. Really. In fact, I think it's a welcome change from fancy dinners. And if we are to be friends, you shouldn't mind it at all."

She still wasn't convinced. "But I wanted to prepare something good, it's been a long time since I've done anything for myself…"

"Isobel." He interrupted her. She looked sharply at him. His light-blue eyes were calm and patient. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around his shoulders and bury her face in his neck.

"I'm sure you'll come up with something delicious next time we dine together. Now, why don't we have a bite of these wonderful sandwiches?" He moved from her and she had to suppress a whimper of disappointment.

Dinner was a quiet affair. They ate in silence, sharing satisfied looks from time to time. She didn't know if it was because she was quite hungry, but she liked Richard's cooking very much.

Wiping her mouth with a napkin she commented, "It was all quite tasty, Richard."

"I'm glad you liked it."

She stood up, "Why don't we move to my drawing room? We could share a glass or two of brandy."

"Of course," he said, following her down the hallway, trying not to stare at her swaying form.

After she had settled on the settee, he opened a brand new bottle of brandy and poured it into two different glasses.

"Can I join you?", he asked rather boldly, nodding towards the sofa.

"Certainly," she replied with a small smile.

As soon as he sat, her scent enveloped him. She smelled of soap and… was it lavender?  
He could see soft ringlets that had escaped her pins curling at the base of her pale neck. He wanted very much to touch it, kiss it.

"_Don't stare at her now, Richard. It's rude._" He thought to himself, purposefully turning his gaze to the book case a few feet away.

He tried hard not to swallow when she took a sip from her glass, and stared off, her mind probably miles away.

"_Tell her she's beautiful._" A smile voice in his head nagged.

"You…", he started.

"I wanted to…", she began at the same time.

They looked at each other, startled, then laughed nervously.

"Say what you wanted to say," she incited him.

"Oh, no, you first, please."

Isobel cleared her throat, "What I meant before was that… I wanted tonight to be perfect to thank you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you, I don't know how I would have survived through all these months without my Matthew."

"You don't have to thank me, Isobel. I did what I did gladly, because I care for you," he said quietly, with feeling.

She took his hands in hers and he gazed into her eyes. She had wonderful eyes, a deep and warm shade of brown with spots of hazel. He had lost track of what she was saying, listening intead to the soft tone of her voice. He thought that her lips might have murmured a 'thank you' but he wasn't sure. He was besotted.

Shaking his head slightly to wake from his reverie he saw Isobel glance at the grandfather clock.  
"Oh."

"What?" he asked, a bit ungentlemanly.

"It's eleven o'clock already," she noticed, biting her lip.

"_Don't stare at her lips, Richard._" He reminded myself.

"I think I should go then," he spoke aloud, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

She nodded silently, standing up to show him to the door. The evening had already ended and all she wanted to do was caress his face, or muss his hair, or… kiss him.

"_Don't think about that now Isobel, it's very unladylike_," she sighed to herself through gritted teeth as they headed for the door.

She put on a smile, trying to conceal her feelings, and turned to him, watching him put on his coat.

After he fastened all the buttons, they stayed in the hall for a while, in awkward silence.  
"Well then. Thank you for this lovely evening, Isobel," he finally spoke.

She nodded and smiled. "Thank you for the dinner, Richard."

"Oh, just some sandwiches and a salad, you can have them anytime you wish," his eyes twinkled as he smiled.

_Don't stare at his lips, don't stare at his lips…  
_  
She opened the door and he stepped out, bowing slightly. "Good night, Isobel."

"Good night, Richard."

She watched him walking away with a knot in her stomach and a strange sense of longing and loneliness.

"Richard!" His name burst out from her lips before she could even think.

He turned back around. "Yes?"

Isobel descended quickly the steps and started running towards him. "You forgot something!"

_Oh, for God's sake, what are you doing now?_

He touched his head, but his hat was there. "What did I forget?" he asked, after a breathless Isobel reached him. His eyes looked deep blue, almost black in the lack of light, but she was sure she saw a twinkle of tenderness and…hope? Or was it just her hope?

She straightened her back and looked bashfully at him.

_Now you lost all you courage together with your wits?  
_  
She reached out for him and caressed his cheek. His eyes widened a little, but he didn't refuse her touch, instead he put his hand on hers.

"What did I forget?" he repeated softly, his Scottish accent suddenly growing very thick.

"This," she said, before leaning towards him. He must have had the same thought, for he tilted his head and met her lips halfway.

It was a light kiss, her lips merely brushing tenderly against his own, and when they separated, she let out a small sigh.

He brought her hand to his lips, and she felt a slight tingle as his whiskers grazed her skin.  
"Good night, my darling Isobel."

She watched him leaving and, after he turned the corner, she couldn't help but turn around a small gleeful laugh escaped her, the first in months, and her skirt whirled behind her as she skipped like a schoolgirl back towards the door.

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	6. Cowardice

**Hi there people! I've written a lot of chapters during my holiday and here's the next one. It's all from Charles' POV and a mirror of the second part of the fourth one in Elsie's POV.**

**I found it a bit difficult to write Charles' thoughts and I hope I respected the character and I didn't go OOC. Tell me what you think of it, please :)**

**This chapter is a bit shorter than the last one (which was ****_veery_**** long). If I can, next chapter will be on its way soon, tonight or tomorrow morning, since I'm leaving again for a work camp for ten days.**

**I'm a bit busy this holidays sorry! ^^'**

**Enjoy (?)**

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**Chapter Six: Cowardice**

Charles folded the paper carefully, put in into an envelope, and wrote down the address in tiny, elegant handwriting. A butler's handwriting.  
He assured himself the envelope was closed before hunching his back and laying back in his chair, sighing.

Two weeks had passed since he left Downton and he had completed his first letter for her now, God knew where he would find the time to send it.  
He had never been so busy as he was in those weeks. The family was out almost every night and, most of the time, he had to attend.  
When they stayed home they never dined alone, but two or three guests that required his complete attention were always present.  
He often found himself doing double the work, but Lady Mary seemed better and that made it worth it.

He couldn't help but wonder how Elsie was doing.  
He wondered if she thought of him… or if she waited anxiously for his letter. He couldn't wait to post the one he had just written. It had taken an entire week to finish it, but he probably would have to wait another two weeks to see it on its way, since he hadn't been allowed a half day off yet.

He usually wrote to her two or three days after his arrival in London and her reply arrived within five or six days. Normally, they wrote to each other as often as they could. They spoke of Downton, of their colleagues (while he tried to avoid gossip, he didn't always succeed) and of the household chores.  
She sometimes dedicated two or three lines to her sister and he dedicated a few to the Crawleys or to grumble about the other housekeeper… the one that wasn't her.

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his pocket watch. It was twenty past one in the morning. In the last few days he had always gone to bed as soon as the family retired for sleeping. He'd been so tired he couldn't even grab a pen and write down a few lines.

But tonight , even if he was so tired he had to stop writing from time to time to avoid blotching the paper, he dedicated an hour of his well deserved rest to her, because she deserved it.  
He stood up, put the letter into a pocket of his waist coat and turned off the light before exiting his pantry and retiring silently up the steps.

His mind was wandering miles away, to Downton Abbey. He wondered if she was sleeping. Of course she was, surely she wasn't troubled by thoughts of him as he was of her.

Charles pictured her sleeping, her head resting on the pillow, the hair escaping from her tidy plait and curling around her face, her lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling slowly, _oh so slowly_… he shook his head. He shouldn't think of her that way, he had no right.

He entered his room and sat on the bed, passing a hand over his face.  
He had no right, but still…  
He sat up suddenly. No, that wasn't proper.

He busied himself changing for the night but, after changing into his pajamas and tucking himself into bed, thoughts of Elsie returned to haunt him during the night.

His bed was slightly larger than the one he had in Downton, two people could occupy it if they slept close enough together… he wondered how it would be to have her next to him, in his arms.

She had asked him once if he would have liked to have a different life, a wife, some children perhaps and she had taken him aback. It had been years before and yet… he was still not ready to reply.

Ten years before he had been struggling to understand whether he loved her or not. After no more than a year he resolved that he didn't love her, despite the unbidden jealousy he felt when she'd briefly walked out with Joe Burns again.

It took him another two years to doubt his decision. Was it only friendship he sought from Elsie?  
No sir, he didn't love her.

But a year ago it had hit him so suddenly. He loved her, gods be damned, _he loved her_.  
He loved her smile, her hair, her accent, her sweet face… and any attempts to repress his feelings only made it worse. But he couldn't let his feelings be shown, so he treated her in the same way he had always done. And when he found himself in close proximity with her, he raised his unbreakable wall to shield himself.  
He couldn't let her in, he couldn't run the risk of it breaking… he tried to tell himself that he didn't need any sort of romantic entanglements, thank you very much.

Still, it was very hard not to think of her... especially once he had admitted to himself he loved her.  
She was always in his thoughts and when he didn't think of her, she would find a way into his mind anyway.  
It was the most frustrating thing ever, being side by side with Elsie every day and not being able to caress her cheek or squeeze her shoulder. Or kiss her….

He groaned and turned on his side.  
He wondered how her figure would appear in the dim light of his bedroom. He wondered how it would feel to embrace her from behind, feel the curve of her bottom against his groin, drape an arm on her belly, just under her bosom, tangle his legs with hers, feel her tiny feet next to his, breathe in her scent, put his nose in her hair, kiss her shoulder… the mere thought was maddening for him.

He sighed again. Only Elsie had ever made him feel that way. She was a strong and independent woman and yet he feared she might break under his touch, for he knew she was more delicate and fragile than she made others believe behind her steel façade.

They both hid behind masks. Charles pretended to be the perfect of Downton Abbey, so much dedicated to his work that the family's interests were his.  
Elsie pretended to be the stern and ill-tempered housekeeper, the Scottish Dragon, a spinster, a shrew, a machine that worked and worked but rarely felt anything.

He wondered sometimes how things would have been different if he had married her, if she had had his children. He would have liked two girls and a boy with bright blue eyes and curly hair.

He turned on his back again, staring at the ceiling but it was Elsie's face he continued to see in his mind.  
He felt angry with himself for behaving like a fool whenever she was around or not. When he was in the same room as her, his eyes were drawn to her like magnets.  
He did his best to conceal it and no one seemed to have noticed yet (especially not her, thank God).

When she was far away from him, his thoughts drifted to her more often than he'd like. Not that he had any power on his mind when it came to her.

Every year in his London bed he promised himself he was going to say to her he loved her once he returned home. But he had never done it.  
She was there, in front of him, yet still out of his reach.

Every year he promised himself he would find the courage to ask her to walk out with him, but he had never done it.

"What will others think?" he thought. "The butler and the housekeeper of Downton, how improper!"

But a voice inside him screamed not to care. It screamed to take her hand, lead her to him, wrap his arms around her and kiss her softly… but he couldn't, he wouldn't.

Despite the warm temperature in the room, Charles felt a sudden chill to the bone.

And in his cold and lonely bed, he felt more coward than he had ever been.

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	7. Flowers and Letters

**I'm so proud of myself, I've succeded in typing this chapter last night so I could post this morning before leaving. A very huge thanks to Ame, my beta, who's always so patient with me and despite her work always finds the time to check my work. Another thanks to all of you, those who have reviewed and are always so kind with me and those who continue to read this even if the chapters are often delayed. Thank you, really.**

**I hope I won't dissapoint you with this one.**

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**Chapter Seven: Flowers and Letters**

Isobel woke when the sun had already set high in the sky. Judging from the light that filtered in from the window, it must have been ten o'clock.  
She couldn't recall a night better spent than the last one. Everything should have been spoiled when she overslept her nap, instead it turned out the right way thanks to him.

She didn't know where all her forwardness had come from but in the end she had worked up the courage to kiss him.  
Their lips had met halfway. That was the sweetest thing about it, for he must have been thinking of kissing her too.  
Their brief contact had woken again the butterflies in her stomach and had left her longing for more.

She hadn't found the boldness to kiss him again, so she had watched him walking away, with an irrepressible joy in her heart and laughter on her lips.

She had dreamt of him that night; she had not slept so peacefully in months.  
She smiled, remembering his whiskers grazing her hand and wondering how it would be if they were to graze other parts of her. Goosebumps rose on her flesh and she snuggled further under the blankets.

When she decided to have breakfast she put on the dressing gown she had used to greet him the night before and went downstairs.

Molesley greeted her and bid her good morning. She replied cheerfully and busied herself preparing breakfast.

"Let me do that, ma'am," he offered.

"No need to worry, Molesley. I have to prove to myself I'm still capable of preparing my own breakfast, " she chuckled.

He looked at her at loss for words. "Well then," he stammered. "As you wish, ma'am." He made to exit, then stopped on the threshold.

"What is it?" she asked, turning to face him with a smile.  
"I remembered only now, Mrs Crawley. Someone has left a bunch of flowers on the doorstep."

*

The postman was late. Elsie was waiting for him by the back door, pacing back and forth.

She was sure Charles' letter was arriving that day.  
She could feel the paper in her hand, his handwriting impressed on it, the scent of ink and paper mixed together, she could feel her heart beating while she read it… she felt like a silly schoolgirl.

In that moment she saw the postman appear at the end of the road, approaching Downton Abbey on his bike. When he arrived and dismounted from the bike, she greeted him. "Good morning, Mr Johnson. You're late today."

"Good morning, Mrs Hughes. I'm sorry but I had a lot of letters to deliver this morning."

She nodded, wondering if there was also a letter for her in the ones he had in hand."Here are yours," he added. "Have a nice day."

"You too, Mr Johnson."

As soon as he was out of sight, she started searching for Charles' letter… but none of the letters were addressed to her.  
She sighed and made her way inside.

Beryl Patmore's head appeared from the kitchen door and she leaned on the doorframe, crossing her arms. "Well, what's all this fuss about?" she asked, alluding at Elsie's strange behaviour.

"Nothing," she replied, her Scottish accent suddenly very thick. "Here's a letter for you, it's from your sister I think."

"_And none for me, again_," she thought, despairing.

Isobel stood in front of Doctor Clarkson's office at the hospital.  
She looked around her but no one was in the corridor. She breathed in deeply and raised her fist to knock but hesitated.

"_Come on you! You weren't so shy last night!_" she thought.  
She sighed, rolled her eyes and knocked.

"Come in," his voice answered from inside.

She pushed the door and padded in timidly. "Good morning, Doctor."

He lifted his head from the paper work. He seemed very surprised to see her there. "Good morning, Mrs Crawley. What brings you here?"

She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, for fear her legs would fail her.

"I came here to thank you," she spoke sottovoce. "For yesterday evening and… for the flowers," she added with a small smile.

"Flowers?" he asked, trying to sound unaware.

Isobel saw the smile beneath his moustache and tried to play his game. "Well, I found a bunch of flowers on my doorstep this morning. It was very beautiful, although I don't know the name of the sender, so…"

"So?"

"I thought it might be you."

He feigned surprise. "Me? And what makes you think so, pray?" He stood up and approached her.

"He likes making fun of me," she thought, amused.

"Uhm, I don't know exactly, but since someone kissed me last night… someone that had fair hair, blue eyes and a soft Scottish lilt coming from underneath his whiskers."

"Oh, did he? I'm a little jealous."

She had to bite back a smile. His nearness was overwhelming.

"Are you?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"I am. Very much," he replied, gazing at her with his stunning blue eyes.

She swallowed. "And why should you be jealous, _pray_?"

"Because he's very lucky to have kissed you," he answered softly, looking at her intently.

In a heartbeat their bodies crushed together. He put his arms around her and she clung to his neck as their lips came in contact. His mouth was warm and his whiskers tingled her under the nose but she didn't mind at all.

He moved one hand to cradle her head, his fingers tangled with the hair at the base of her neck and her lips parted slowly to invite him in.

After they broke apart, he rested his forehead on hers, her ragged breath mingling with his.

"I'm sorry," he spoke. "That was a bit ungentlemanly. Please forgive me."

She chuckled. "Why, you're forgiven. Not that I've been much of a lady either."

"Well, I didn't mind your unladylike behaviour," he answered mischievously, though his tone was one of honesty.

"As I don't mind your ungentlemanly behaviour now," she responded.

He kissed the tip of her nose, "You came only to thank me for the flowers then?"

"If not, what was I supposed to do here?"

"Might be you had a second purpose?" he asked, a light of mischief shining in his eyes.

"Might be _you_ had a second purpose, Richard Clarkson, by sending me those flowers!"

He laughed, "Then I must say: _mission accomplished_."

She swatted her arm lightly as he took her in his arms again and kissed her softly on the lips.

"Are you coming round one of these days?"

"Of course. I always come round in the mornings, you know."

"Yes, but I meant for you to stay at lunch or dinner? I promise you a proper one this time," she giggled a bit as memories of the night before flashed through her mind again.

"Oh, that would be my pleasure. How about on Friday again? Let's say at lunchtime."

She nodded.

"Now, off with you. I've had enough distractions this morning."

She left him with a long lingering kiss that almost left him begging for more.  
That woman would soon drove him mad, more than she had already done.

* * *

**Don't worry, the moment for Chelsie will arrive. But it's in my intentions to make them suffer a bit (don't hate me Chelsie shippers, you'll be happy by the end, I promise).**

**In the meanwhile, how about leaving a review to make my day?**


	8. A Ladies' Chat

**Hello hello my faithful readers! Here I am with a new chapter of this story (which I hope you're enjoying). Thank you so much for your reviews, they always make my day! And thanks to my super betareader Ame, without whom I wouldn't be here :)**

**I've moved to my house in the mountains and since the town is very small and there isn't much to do apart from studying (I've started today and I really have too much to do *cries in despair*) and visiting the same places two times a day... so I brought my PC with me (I even have an Internet USB, I use my SIM card for the connection, so I hope it will last long...) and a lot of ideas to write down!**

**Now I think I'll end this unnecessary long premise. Here's your chapter! **

**Enjoy ;)**

* * *

**Chapter Eight: A Ladies' Chat**

"Where are you going?" Isobel asked as Richard stood up from the settee and made his way out of the drawing room.

His head popped out from the doorway. "Someone has to take care of those dishes, it's half past three already."

She chuckled. "Molesley is in charge of washing the dishes here, you don't have to worry."

"Sorry, I do it out of habit. I don't have a servant willing to do it for me," he teased.

"Well, if you care so much for the well-being of the dishes I suppose I could help you," she returned.

"Ooh, could you?" he teased back.

"Of course, Doctor. I've got years and years of experience as a dish washer. I had my own house and kitchen, you know, back when Matthew was a little boy…"  
She stopped abruptly, realizing what she was saying. A dark cloud suddenly overshadowed the amused light in her eyes and she suddenly found herself choking back a sob.

He was near her so suddenly she barely acknowledged his presence. Seeing her so tense and upset, he opened his arms and welcomed her gently in them. Isobel put her head on his shoulder and started breathing heavily as he stroked her back murmuring soothing nonsense words.

She tightened her grip on him and he let her be for awhile, despite the warm dampness on his right shoulder. Then she loosened her grip and titled her head to look at him with her brown eyes glistening with tears.

"I… I'm sorry Richard, I don't know what came over me."

"I do," he replied. "And it's perfectly normal."  
He caressed her cheek. "I'll be here every time you need me, do you understand?"

She smiled softly, moved by his words. "Will you?"

He nodded wordlessly and sealed his promise with a light kiss.  
"Now, why don't we deal with those dishes?"

She followed him in the kitchen and laughed when he put on an apron.

"What? He asked, amused by her reaction. "Never seen a man wearing an apron? I don't want my clothes to get dirty! _You_ should be wearing an apron too!"

He provided her with another one and helped her put it on, fastening it on her back and lingering more than necessary.

Isobel busied herself filling the sink with water and, when she turned, she noticed he had rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows. She had to keep her eyes on the dishes to avoid getting distracted by his strong and gentle arms.

They worked perfectly together, as they had done at the hospital. They established a rhythm, he washed, she dried, and they finished the dishes much quicker than they thought they would.

"Thank you for your help," she said, after wiping her hands. She removed her apron and kissed him on the cheek. "Molesley will be glad we have already washed the dishes when he returns from the market. Why don't we…"

A knock on the door interrupted her.  
"What time is it?" she asked.

He glanced at his pocket watch. "Ten past four."

"Heavens! I forgot Mrs. Hughes was coming for tea today! She wrote to me two days ago saying she would come."

"Well then, go and answer the door, I'll be on my way."

She pouted. "But I don't want you to go."

"We have spent lunchtime together, dear, besides I've to do my rounds at the hospital."  
He kissed her thoroughly before she had the chance to open the door.

"Thank you for today," she whispered to him in goodbye, opening the door.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Hughes! Please, do come in," she invited the other woman.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Crawley…and Doctor Clarkson," she added, after noting Richard's presence.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hughes, I was just about to leave," he reassured her, noticing her puzzled look.

Elsie continued to stare at Richard strangely. Isobel looked at Richard, trying to understand the now tense atmosphere.  
"_Oh_."

Richard turned to look at her.

"Richard, your… my apron," she said as calmly as possible, trying to contain the mirth that already shone in the housekeeper's eyes.

He tilted his head down to look at himself and started fumbling to take it off as soon as he realized he was still wearing it. His cheeks tinged faintly pink as he tried unsuccessfully to rid himself of it.

"Let me help you," she said.

He let her untie the knot and thanked her under his breath, then put his hat on and left, after bowing slightly to the two women. Elsie was trying to bite back a smile.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Crawley, you've been very kind," Elsie spoke as soon as they were alone.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Hughes. I was looking for some female company and I'm glad you took up my offer. Why don't we move to my drawing room?"

The housekeeper nodded and followed her.

"You have to forgive us," started Isobel as they settled down on the sofa. "Rich… Doctor Clarkson was helping me wash the dishes…he just forgot to take off the apron." She had tried to speak of him as "Doctor" but his birth name had sprang from her lips. She was pretty certain it wasn't the first time she addressed him as "Richard" in the housekeeper's presence. Had she said it when she asked him to take off his apron? If Elsie Hughes had come to conclusions about the nature of their relationship, she didn't let them show. The woman was nothing if not discreet.

"Our Doctor is multitasker then!" Mrs. Hughes giggled and they both finally released the mirth they'd been holding in before.

"I'm glad you found a friend that helps you…not only wash the dishes. If you permit me to say so."

There it was. Of course she had jumped to conclusions, Mrs Hughes was a woman ready of mind. There wasn't reason to pretend anymore. "It's nice of you to say that, thank you," replied Isobel.  
It was nice indeed to have someone who encouraged her in her relationship with Richard.

It was a newborn thing, the one they had between each other, and it needed to be cherished, nourished and encouraged to grow stronger every day that passed, just as a good gardener was like to do with a new rosebush. Yes, that was exactly what they had, what they shared. A newborn rosebud which had blossomed timidly, with time. Their relationship held the promise of growing into a strong and beautiful flower, whose scent could envelop all the other flowers nearby.  
And as she stood there with Mrs. Hughes, she realized how much she wanted to make their little blossom grow and she was glad she had Mrs. Hughes' support as her and Richard forged this path together.

"How are things proceed at Downton?" she asked while settling more comfortably on the settee.

"As usual, Mrs. Crawley. A lot of the staff remained home and we manage well enough. It has been rather tiring, however."

"I'm sure the house is in good hands," Isobel gave her friend a reassuring smile.

Mrs. Hughes smiled slightly but Isobel noticed how she proudly straightened her back. "We do our best."

Isobel nodded. "Any news from London?"  
As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them. Before she could apologize though, Mrs Hughes replied. "Nothing still," she said, almost sighing.

Mrs. Crawley could not help her curiosity. "Forgive me for asking but… has he not written to you?"

In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought to herself. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything at all, she seemed wounded by his delay…

She wasn't sure if she had seen a flash of anger in the housekeeper's eyes, because it was quickly replaced by a sad expression. It was as if she wasn't trying to hide it anymore.  
"No," she admitted. "No, he hasn't."

Isobel had never heard the other woman sound so miserable. It was plain she had tried to hide her distress from others, but she seemed tired of that now, or maybe she just wanted to give vent to her feelings.

"Don't lose your hope now. You see, I've received a letter from Cousin Cora and she said they've been extraordinarily busy with all the parties. I'm sure Carson is drowning in work since the staff in London is so much smaller."

Elsie barely seemed to hear her. "You received a letter from Lady Grantham? How is… the family?"  
She corrected herself before making a wrong move, but she knew she had already revealed her cards. Would it be worth it to try and hide her feelings from Isobel Crawley? They had shared their differences, sure, but she knew they were both more alike than they realized.

"The family _and_ the servants are well. Lady Mary seems to have improved and little George is growing up more beautifully day by day. They'll return on the twentieth of May."

Mrs. Hughes bit her lip and looked in her lap, ashamed that she had revealed that she cared for the butler more than a colleague should. Isobel didn't know for how long the housekeeper had nourished her feelings for Mr. Carson, but she knew it had to have been for a very long time. It was about time she let her shield fall in front of somebody. She knew how bad it was to never be able to speak about your feelings with someone you could put your trust in. And she was glad Mrs. Hughes was opening her heart a little bit.

"I'm sure he has already written a letter for you," Isobel pointed out after a moment of silence. "Maybe he has just sent it and it's on its way."

The housekeeper looked up at her sharply, her mouth gaping. "I… Mrs Crawley, I…"

Isobel put her hands on the other woman's. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

A strange light shone in Elsie Hughes' eyes, maybe she judged her sentence too much impertinent, maybe she wasn't still trusting her completely, but she didn't let it show. She replied with a simple "thank you".

Afterwards, they spent the afternoon talking quite pleasantly in front of a cup of tea and a few biscuits. When she was about to leave, Isobel felt the need to speak again. "I'm sure he cares for you in the same way you care for him, you know." When Mrs. Hughes didn't interrupt, she continued. "Perhaps he's a little bit shy and unsure of your feelings or worried about propriety…this is Mr. Carson, after all."

She smiled and put her hand again on Mrs Hughes'. "I'm glad you came, really. Please come again whenever you feel like it, I'd love that."

The housekeeper nodded. "Thank you for the pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Crawley."

"Please call me Isobel." She felt the need to use her birth names with the other woman. After all they had shared that afternoon, unspoken or not, calling each other Elsie and Isobel would be a way to seal their new relationship. Isobel didn't dare call it friendship, not yet.

"I'd like that, ma'am, but I can't."

"Oh, please, please, I insist," Isobel replied stubbornly.

Mrs Hughes smiled. "Then you should call me Elsie."

"Perfect. Goodbye then, Elsie. Have a nice evening."

"You too, Isobel. And give my regards to the Doctor."

Isobel blushed a little and Elsie beamed. As she watched Elsie make her way to Downton, she couldn't help but think she had added another little rosebud to her garden.

They couldn't be more different, yet they had a lot of things in common. Being in love was one of them.

* * *

**I hope I haven't disappointed you with this chapter. In the next one our hero (you all know who he is) will return from London...**

**How about leaving a review in the meantime?**


	9. Return

**Hi, dear ones! Thank you so very much for your support, I wish you could be all here to hug!**

**Here you go with another chapter, don't kill me please ;)**

**My thanks, as always, go to Ame.**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Return**

Charles laid his head on the window glass, staring outside as the train travelled fast across the countryside.  
In less than two hours he would be at Downton. He sighed and instinctively put a hand on his chest, near his waistcoat pocket, where he kept the letters meant for Elsie.

He hadn't had the time to send them in those two months. Or at least…that was what he told himself.  
He had been very busy indeed, busier than he had ever been, but it was not as if Lord Grantham had denied him his few well deserved half days off. He had continued to work though, restlessly.

She must be angry with me, he thought. And she would bloody well have her reasons.

When he was away for the Season they _always_ wrote to each other, and at the start of July he always returned home with about ten letters from Elsie, which he always kept jealously in a little box.

He didn't know how to face her once he returned home. He wasn't even sure she'd be angry with him. What if she gave him the cold shoulder? Or smacked him? Or, worst of all, didn't care a bit?  
The woman was a mystery to him, yet she always seemed to understand even his deepest thoughts.  
So why hadn't she realized he was in love with her?

The group of letters on his heart weighed more than it should have, heavy with words unspoken and unwritten.  
He wondered why he persisted in being such a craven. All he needed was to speak up, or take her hand, or caress her hair, or… kiss her.  
The mere thought made him weak in the knees.

She is a beautiful force of nature, he thought, small but fierce. Oh, what fierceness she had!  
It shone in those deep blue eyes of hers, whenever she quarrelled with him.

He was glad of their newfound bond after her cancer scare, but he was still reluctant to let things go further. He would hate to ruin their friendship by kissing her.

As Charles Carson was travelling home, he realized that even his firm conviction of living without making her his was wrong. It couldn't be more wrong, for he knew that all the wanted to do as soon as he saw her that afternoon was to take her in his arms and kiss her squarely on the lips… but he would never do such a thing. Would he lose her because of his foolishness?  
He'd lose her because he was a coward who denied them both the chance to reveal their true feelings.

*

"The car has just arrived," Mrs. Patmore entered from the yard outside.

"I'm coming," mumbled Elsie before following her out half-heartedly.

She emerged in the yard just as the chauffeur was turning off the engine. She shielded herself from the sun with a hand and waited patiently for the servants to exit the car.

She wondered what he would do when he saw her. Would he be ashamed? Worried? Would he care at all?  
With a silent sigh she prepared to face him.

He got out of the car first and held the door open for the others: Mr. Bates, Anna, Thomas and Lady Grantham's new maid got out of the car in quick succession.

"Good afternoon, all!" Anna cheerfully greeted the other staff.

"Welcome back," responded Elsie with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Anna responded to the smile gratefully with her own, and soon the silence grew into a quiet chatter as the servants proceeded to enter the house, leaving Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes behind.

Beryl Patmore stole a worried glance in their direction but decided not to interfere; she followed the others inside, shaking her head slightly.

"It's nice to be back," said Charles, after an awkward moment of silence.

Mrs Hughes didn't reply, suddenly finding her shoes very interesting.  
He cleared his throat once and then twice, a few minutes later. Elsie Hughes still hadn't spoken a word.

"Mrs Hughes, I…"

Her head snapped up at his change in tone and she stared at him, motionless, waiting for him to continue.

He cleared his throat again, desperately searching for the courage he simply didn't have.  
"Is everything all right?" he heard himself ask and almost immediately regretted having spoken at all.

She glared at him with a stern piercing stare she usually reserved for her maids and he was surprised (if not a little relieved) not to see smoke coming from her nostrils.

A strange light shone in her light blue eyes, a light of anger, suddenly replaced by a cloud of cold politeness.  
"Of course, Mr Carson. Why wouldn't it be all right?" she returned and he could identify a slight note of mockery in her tone.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out. He must have looked surprised at his outburst, for a glimpse of surprise appeared on her face as well, only to disappear just as quickly.

"I'm sorry for…" he tried again.

"Why, Mr Carson," she interrupted him. "There's nothing to apologize for."

He couldn't help but smile and a strange feeling of euphoria gripped him tightly.  
So she wasn't mad at him for not writing? They would continue to be Elsie Hughes and Charles Carson, housekeeper and butler of Downton Abbey, colleagues and friends?

"Because I don't even know what you're talking about," she added coolly, before leaving him outside, alone, utterly speechless, and very confused.

*

"Well, that served him right," commented Beryl Patmore that same evening.

Charles hadn't presented in her parlour, choosing instead to go to bed.  
Or maybe that was his plan B, since he had entered her office to bid her goodnight and had hesitated on the threshold just a few seconds. She knew him well; he was trying to give her time to call him back.  
But she hadn't, oh no, she hadn't. So he had had no choice but to go to sleep.  
He surely would sleep better than her that night, as he had always done. He simply didn't care for her the way she did.

Elsie didn't reply but continued to stir the tea in her cup absent-mindedly.

"What do you intend to do now?" asked the cook.

She looked at her friend, uncertain on what to say. "Why, should I do something?"

"Of course you should! You could ask him why he didn't write to you, for example."

Oh, yes, Elsie thought. Then why don't I ask him how many times a day he uses the toilet?  
"I don't think it's a good idea," she answered instead.

"Come on, Elsie! You said he was trying to explain himself, you should have given him time to do that…"

"He was trying to come up with some sort of decent explanation, thank you very much! And I won't believe him if he comes saying he hasn't had time to write me a letter. Lord Grantham has never denied a simple half day to his employees, not when they're here, nor when they're in London! If he wanted to write to me, if he cared about it, he would have found the time, half day off or not, but he didn't."

She sighed. "Oh, but who am I to judge him? I'm not his mother, nor his sister, nor his…"  
She stopped abruptly, swallowing quickly and fighting hard not to blush.

_Nor his wife. She was not his wife._

Beryl looked at her sadly and curved her lips in sympathy as she frowned in apprehension.

"He obviously doesn't care about me as I thought he would. I'm just a colleague, the housekeeper".  
She was almost glad she was seeing it right now.

"I'm not even a friend," she added, "for he would have written to a friend. I'm just the old housekeeper of Downton Abbey," she concluded, sipping her tea that suddenly tasted cold and bitter.

*  
In his bed in Downton, Charles turned for the tenth time in five minutes. He passed a hand through his hair and sighed heavily.

He had made a mess of it, he had ruined it. All they had, all they shared had gone to ashes.  
He honestly didn't know what had come over him, what had prevented him from sending those letters to her.  
He felt a strange feeling in his gut, like a mailed hand was twisting his insides with force.  
His head kept screaming he was a coward and he knew, more than ever, that he was.

He hadn't realized how much he needed Elsie in his life until a few years before and now that he had the chance to deepen the relationship with her, he was wasting it away.

Maybe if he showed her the letters he had written… but what good would that bring?

"Look, Elsie, these are for you. There are five of them, see? I often thought of you in these months and I wrote quite a few letters for you but I've never had the courage to send them," he mumbled hesitantly.

Yeah, perfect, she would fall at his feet.

He turned again with a frustrated groan.  
She would probably think he had written them out of pity tonight.  
No, that would never do, he thought.

He had to find a way to deal with the problem, he knew.  
And in the darkness of his room, Charles Carson prepared himself to face what was yet to come.

* * *

**How about leaving a review to express your pain? ;P**


	10. It's Complicated

**Hi there, darling ones! How are your holidays going? I hope well. **

**Here everything is dreadfully dead and silent, I enjoyed myself last week because a friend of mine stayed for a week in my little house, but now she's gone and boredom found me again!**

**Anyway, I hope I can work properly on this fanfiction, since I have a lot of free time, homework excluded :P**

**The title is a little tribute to my beloved Meryl Streep *blushes and giggles***

**As always, a big THANKS to Ame and to all of you who continue to read and review this story, I love you!**

**Enjoy (?)**

* * *

**Chapter Ten: It's Complicated**

Charles rose, more tired than he should be that morning. Three weeks had passed since his return to Downton, and he had slept very little.  
Elsie Hughes had been giving him the cold shoulder since his return from London, and the effects on him were noticeable.

Not that she refused to work professionally with him as she had always done, no, but when it came time to share a joke or have a chat with him in the evenings, she vanished.  
She preferred to spend her evenings in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore or in the Servants' Hall, mending socks in company of Anna, Mr. Bates, and the maids.

The servants sensed the bad blood between the housekeeper and the butler; they rarely spoke now, even at lunch or dinner, but no one dared ask.  
Once Charles heard Daisy ask Mrs. Patmore why the two heads of the house behaved that way, and Beryl has silenced her with a "best if you mind your own business, Daisy".

During her few half days off, Elsie usually went to town only to return in the evening just in time for dinner.  
He hadn't yet discovered where she went.

His mind kept jumping to the possibility of a romantic entanglement.  
He shook his head. No, that wasn't in Mrs. Hughes' character.

And yet it wouldn't be the first time she walked out with a man. His hands itched at the thought of Joe Burns.

No, he was sure she went to town only to visit some friend of hers. That was the _only_ possible explanation.  
He almost laughed at himself as he stood up and went to wash his face, hoping to clear out his mind as well.

He hated those thoughts. They haunted him especially at night, and kept him from sleep.

The situation was almost a paradox. Thoughts of Elsie the past few years always haunted him, but they were sweet thoughts, tinged with affection, love and, recently, even lust.

But now, suddenly, thoughts of her were filled with such grief, such pain. It affected not only his thoughts and his sleep, but his whole person.

Elsie Hughes was more than a colleague to him, she always had been, but he had realized it too late… too late to solve the situation.

What was he thinking? Did he really believe that with a simple apology he could make up for all he had done? He didn't know if Elsie Hughes felt something for him, but if she did, surely they were doomed now. And it was all his fault.

"Good morning, Doctor Clarkson," Charles greeted as he opened the heavy front door.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson," replied the other man, stepping inside.

"Are you here to visit little Master Crawley?" Charles couldn't help but ask.

"Indeed I am, Mr. Carson. I'm here to check on him and Lady Mary as well."

Charles straightened his back. "Very well, I'll show you upstairs."

Only then did he notice a woman exiting by herself out of Dr Clarkson's car. The butler cursed himself for not noticing her before.  
Since when did thoughts of Elsie affect even his work and professionalism?

"I'm deeply sorry, ma'am, I did not see you…" Carson started.

"It's quite alright Carson, no need to worry," replied a soft voice with a slight Manchester accent.

"Oh, good morning Mrs. Crawley," he greeted, visibly relieved. He didn't know why but the fact that it was her and not another woman, relaxed him a bit.

He had always underestimated her. He'd disliked her, at first, for being a doctor's wife who had come to deprive the Dowager of the hospital, and for having a son that would inherit the Abbey in place of Lady Mary.  
He disliked her because she had tried to render the Abbey a permanent convalescent house, for her work with prostitutes, and for the friction between her and Mrs Hughes regarding Ethel.

He had never truly considered her part of the family, and realized that Mrs. Crawley herself probably did not feel much part of the family either, now that her son was dead.

"I met Dr Clarkson on the way to the hospital," Isobel said, censuring the fact that she was going there to meet him. "He told me he was coming here and he offered me a lift that I accepted eagerly. It's been more than a week since I've seen my little George."

"Very well, ma'am, if you'd follow me."

They followed the butler inside and neither of them spoke another word.

Elsie was in her parlour checking the linen rota when a knock on the door interrupted her. She raised her head and felt herself stiffen.

"Enter," she heard herself say.

Isobel's frame appeared in the doorway and her shoulders immediately relaxed. "Good morning, Elsie. I came here to visit my grandson and I thought I might pop in here for a while, if you don't mind me," she explained with a smile.

"Of course I don't mind you, Isobel. Please come in and take a sit."

Mrs. Crawley sat and smiled at the housekeeper. "So, how are you? It's been a while since we've seen one another."

"It has been almost two weeks, but I feel rather the same I'm afraid."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Please do."

"Hasn't he explained why he didn't write while he was away?" Isobel asked.

Elsie shook her head. "I didn't give him time to explain for fear he might come up with some cockamamie story… I know I would have believed him like the fool I am."

"You're not a fool, Elsie. Please don't say that." Isobel's face softened at her friend's words.

Mrs Hughes didn't reply.

"Maybe if you had let him explain he would have told you the truth. You should have more faith in him."

Elsie sighed, "I don't know, I feel like… like he doesn't want to deepen our relationship. Maybe I was the only one that saw a change. In the months before he left for London he seemed different, but it must have been my imagination. I don't ask for much, do I? Why couldn't he have just written to me, as he used to?"

"May I speak to you frankly?" Isobel asked once again.

"Certainly."

"I think you should give him the chance to say what he has to say. You never gave him the chance for an explanation… maybe now he doesn't feel that he has the right to say anything."

"Well, now the mess is said and done and there's nothing I can do to solve it," Mrs. Hughes protested stubbornly.

Isobel frowned. "I don't think so. If you only had more patience with him…"

"The thing is, I'm tired of waiting for him. I'm tired of suffering because of him and his words, because he fears to feel something or doesn't feel anything for me."

"I've already told you but I'll repeat myself. I think he _does_ care a lot about you, he's just shyer about his feelings. It might be he doesn't know how to reveal them or fears a rejection. He is a man, after all, he doesn't share our keen eye for perception." Isobel winked.

Elsie laughed quietly and, for the first time in two weeks, the smile reached her eyes.

Richard was going down the stairs when the booming voice of Charles Carson reached him.  
"Doctor Clarkson!"

"Yes, Mr. Carson?"

"May I have a word?"

"Of course. How can I help you?"

"The thing is, since I've returned from London… I'm sleeping very little. I have difficulties falling asleep at night."

The Doctor looked briefly at his pocket watch. "I'm late for my rounds at the hospital, but we can see each other tomorrow or… when is your next half day?"

Charles thought about it for a few seconds. "I could take a half day off, I suppose."

"Well, if you're able to come tomorrow afternoon, my office at the hospital is open. If not, call me and I'll come for you here."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Goodbye, Mr Carson. Have a nice day."

Carson sighed in relief. Maybe now he could get some sleep and get this whole mess sorted out.

* * *

**Want to encourage poor Charles and make Elsie see reason? Leave a review! ;)**


	11. Medical Advice

**Hi there! I'm really sorry to have kept you waiting this long, but I found some friends of mine here, so I'm going out every afternoon and evenin, and I don't have much time for writing... sorry about that!**

**To make you forgive me I wrote a very long chapter, hoping you'll like it of course.**

**My thanks as always go to Ame and to all of you who read and review. I'll try to update more often :)**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Medical Advice**

"A half day off you say, Carson?" asked Lord Grantham that morning.

"I understand I asked with too little notice, m'lord, but if you could do without me today…"

"The thing is, Carson, you know we have guests at dinner tonight. Important guests."

He cursed himself mentally. How could have he forgotten? The family had enlisted this dinner two weeks before.  
"Of course, m'lord. I remember."

"You have worked hard in these months, Carson, I've seen it. And you've never taken a half day off. I understand how tired you must feel."

Charles didn't reply.

"If you could just hold out for another day or two, I assure you you can take as many half days off as you wish this month."

"I only require one, m'lord. Thank you for your understanding."

"Thank you, Carson. You're such an essential part of this household, I'm not quite sure what we would do without you."

Charles straightened his back. Hearing his employer praising him and his work made him very proud of himself.  
"Thank you m'lord. You're very kind to say that."

Lord Grantham smiled at him as Charles took his leave, after bowing slightly to him.  
He was on his way downstairs when he was struck with a sudden thought and turned on his heel.  
He knocked on the library door before entering.

"Lord Grantham, I forgot to ask if I could use the telephone for a minute. I need to call Doctor Clarkson."

"Of course you may, Carson. Are you not feeling well?"

"I am, m'lord. I'm feeling perfectly well, I just need a doctor's counsel."

Lord Grantham chose not to inquire any further. "Very well then. But if you don't feel well please inform me, I will not have you working if you are ill. We've lost enough people in this house."

"Certainly, m'lord. Thank you, m'lord."

*

"Thank you for coming, Doctor Clarkson," said Charles once he entered his pantry.

"It's no problem at all, Mr Carson. I'm glad to help you, it's my job after all," explained the other man.  
"So, what seems to be the trouble?"

Charles closed the door carefully before sitting in front of him. "I've had some trouble falling asleep at night."

"Do you have any idea what might be the cause?"

"I don't know…" Charles lied, clearly ill-at-ease.

"Perhaps it's just the stresses of work?"

"Oh no, it's caused heart problems, as you may recall, but never interfered with my sleep."

"Do you eat regularly?"

"Yes."

Elsie was descending the stairs with her arms full of sheets. She had been helping some of the maids; that night they were having very important guests at dinner and some might stay for the night.  
As she was walking in the hallway, Anna stopped her. "Mrs Hughes…"

"Yes, Anna?"

"I've just seen Doctor Clarkson entering Mr Carson's pantry. Is he feeling alright?"

Anna was a dear girl, always troubling herself for the welfare of others, but honestly, how could she know if he was feeling well? They'd scarcely spoken to one another in weeks.

"I don't know, Anna. He's old enough to look after himself, after all," she replied curtly.

Seeing her disconcerted look, she sighed and added. "Don't worry, I'll check on him later."

When the head housemaid left however, Elsie couldn't help but eavesdrop on the door of his pantry. She heard Doctor Clarkson's voice coming from inside.  
"And you are having no digestive problems?"

"No."

Digestion? Was Charles having serious health issues again?

Doctor Clarkson sighed and look at the older man.  
"Listen, Mr Carson. If you have any idea or suspicion about the cause of your trouble sleeping then you should tell me now. I'm your doctor and all you may say to me will remain confidential."

Charles turned a slight shade of pink and looked down at his shoes.  
Clarkson waited in silence for his answer.

"You see, Doctor, between me and Mrs Hughes there isn't…well that is to say that…we…we aren't exactly on the best of terms."

Elsie strained her ears. Had she heard correctly? Had he mentioned her as the source of his issues?

"Oh," commented the Scottish man, visibly surprised. "Did you quarrel?"

Charles shrugged. "Sort of."

"I see. And does this affect your work?"

"No, my work isn't the cause of my problem."  
Really, sometimes that man could be deliberately obtuse, Charles thought.

"Is it the quarrel with Mrs. Hughes then?"

Charles took a deep breath. "Yes. Yes, it is."  
He was clearly embarrassed by the whole situation.

"And you… you can't possibly solve this issue? Maybe you could talk with her and apologize."

Yeah, apologizing might do the trick, but had he enough courage? And most of all, would she listen to him?

"It's complicated."

"I'll be sincere with you, Mr Carson. I could prescribe something to help you sleep but that won't help you at all. It'd be best if were to make peace with Mrs Hughes, if she's the cause of your problems. This will grant you a more relaxing and healthy sleep."

"Make peace with me? That won't happen even if Lady Mary asks it of him," Elsie thought, exasperated. "If he comes and apologize to me, I am King George. This business is ridiculous."

"During my life I learned it's better to apologize when in the wrong and sometimes even when not, especially when the person you quarrelled with is a lady," offered the Doctor with an air of one who knows what's what.

If possible, Charles blushed even more fiercely under his knowing gaze and Clarkson smiled a little. He had hit the target.

"Well, Mr Carson, my advice is to try and solve this matter between the two of you. You've always been good friends from what I recall, I'm sure it won't be too difficult for you."

"Yeah, as easy as pie," Charles thought sourly.

"If you have any problems, don't hesitate to call me."

Elsie left before Doctor Clarkson could open the door. As she made her way to the laundry, she thought to herself, "If he thinks he can simply walk to me, apologize and beg for my forgiveness to solve everything and go back to sleep peacefully, he's very much mistaken."

*  
That night, Charles waited until the major part of the staff had gone to bed.  
Mrs Hughes had spent her evening in the servants' hall as always, to avoid talking to him if not strictly necessary.  
He didn't know if he had missed her going to bed or not, however, when he heard the sound of a chair scraping the floor and Mrs Patmore voice saying "Goodnight, Elsie" he strained his ears.  
She was still awake then.

"Wait, Beryl, I'm coming too."

He heard their feet shuffling in the hallway and he decided to stop her.  
He put his head out of his pantry and called her uncertainly.

Elsie stiffed in the middle of the corridor and turned slowly, looking at him. "Yes, Mr Carson? Do you need something?"

"I'd like to talk to you," he said. "It's about tomorrow's dinner," he lied, sensing Mrs. Patmore's eyes on him.

Elsie tried not roll her eyes at him. Did he really need to speak about it in that moment? She was going to bed for God's sake.  
"I'm all ears, Mr Carson," she sighed going into his pantry and looking back to Beryl with an apologizing expression.

After she had entered, Charles closed the door, his hand hovering on the handle, uncertain whether to lock or not the door. After a good twenty seconds, he decided against it.

"Well?" she asked, crossing her arms over her…

"That is the last place you should be looking at in this moment, Charles Carson," hissed a voice in his head.

"I… I called you here to… not to talk about tomorrow's dinner," he confessed.

She opened her eyes wide, surprised. "And why did you call me here if not to talk about tomorrow's dinner?"

"You see… I wanted to apologize."

"Oh please, don't let it be that thing I heard this afternoon," Elsie thought.  
"What for, Mr. Carson?" she demanded sharply.

"I tried to explain the whole thing when I returned from London but…" He trailed off, stopping entirely.

Elsie waited a while before responding, "I already told you I have no idea what are you talking about."

"Mrs Hughes, please, let me explain…"

"I'm sorry, Mr Carson, I'm feeling very tired. If you'll excuse me, I'm going straight to bed."  
She exited from his pantry before he had the chance to grab her arm and let her see reason.  
He shook himself out of his trance and followed her in the corridor. "Mrs. Hughes! Mrs. Hughes!" he called her twice.

Elsie ignored him; he knew she had perfectly heard his booming voice.

"Well, this is my repayment for not having cared a fig about her when I should have," he thought miserably, retiring in his pantry, alone. Again.

* * *

**How about leaving a review to this poor girl? Thank you :)**


	12. Something Worth Fighting For

**Hi darlings! Here's another chapter for you. Next one will arrive tonight hopefully, if I finish it quickly and Ame can check it. **

**Tomorrow I'm going at the seaside with a friend of mine for a few days, so I won't be here or on Tumblr.**

**If I'm able, I'll upload my new character's study video on Youtube (it's about Cora). I'll post the link on Tumblr as well.**

**Enjoy the chapter and have a good day ;)**

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**Chapter Twelve: Something Worth Fighting For**

Elsie woke up with her neck cramping badly. She turned in her bed and that made her feel worse; another acute pang hit her neck.

She moaned and tried to rise from her bed. "I must have caught a cold during the night," she thought sourly.  
Well, that wasn't unlikely. She hadn't slept a wink.  
Despite all her efforts, thoughts of that blasted Charles Carson had continued to haunt her mind from night to day.

She had to admit she had been almost moved by his contriteness the previous evening. He seemed truly sorry and he probably would have convinced her straight away if she hadn't heard his conversation with the Doctor.  
She knew he wouldn't have tried to apologize again if Doctor Clarkson hadn't told him so. No, he wouldn't have, because Charles Carson was too damn proud.  
She knew he just wanted to relieve his conscience so he could sleep peacefully. Surely his heart wasn't really in it.

She knew why he hadn't written to her during the Season.  
They had grown closer during the previous months: her cancer scare and Lady Sybil's and Mr Crawley's deaths had brought them closer than ever.  
When he had discovered she wasn't going to die, he had sung for her in joy, in relief, hidden in his pantry while polishing the silver.  
He had held her hand, almost held her close to him the night of Lady Sybil's death. She didn't know how much she would have given to hold him or be held by him.  
When Mr Crawley died she had brought him to bed and prepared his tea. He looked almost as distraught as Lady Mary had when she returned home from the hospital.

And even if she knew he didn't care for her, she couldn't help but wonder what is reaction would be if she died.

*

Charles had been awake since the crack of dawn, tossing and turning in his bed.  
He had fallen asleep for two or three hours. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't help but feel guilty, imagining she probably had slept very little or probably hadn't slept at all.

"You flatter yourself, old man," whispered a voice in his mind. "Do you think she cares for you as she used to now that you've disappointed her like that? She has accepted the situation and now she lives with it. Why would this keep her up all night?"

Of course she didn't care for him as she used to, Charles knew that perfectly well. But he still couldn't help hoping that he could resolve the situation.

She had always been there for him, even when she was only head housemaid and they exchanged an occasional chatter during meals in the servants' hall.  
When she had become housekeeper she had been the first to invite him to her parlour and started the habit of spending the evening together as good friends.

She had always given more to him than Charles to her and he saw that now. Maybe you can understand how much a person means to you only when you lose them. Now he understood. He truly understood how much Elsie Hughes meant to him.  
She was the only one that could calm him down and the only one that had the courage to stand up to him when his standards were too high; she was the only true friend he had ever had, she was the only one he would ever love.

His love for her went deeper than he had realized, he thought.  
He had always despised love stories and romance books, in which the characters fell almost instantly in love and suffered theatrically because they couldn't be together.  
His love for Elsie Hughes had grown little by little, day by day, year by year and suddenly Charles felt exactly like those literary characters he had always despised. Never before had he suffered for a woman like that; no other woman had ever made him feel this way.  
He knew he could go to her in that instant, open her bedroom door, get on his knees, and beg her to forgive him.  
Only propriety and his thrice damned pride stopped him from doing that.

He had tried to apologize to her once and she hadn't listened to him.  
He had apologized twice and she didn't hear his reasons.  
Her behaviour angered a small part of him. How could she refuse to listen to him? His colleague and closest friend? She was being ridiculous.

And yet, when he heard movement in the room adjacent to his (a clear signal she was getting up) he couldn't help but think how lovely it be to held her in his arms and place a kiss on her soft lips, or simply greet her with a smile in the morning and exchange playful jokes at the breakfast table.

He couldn't help but think Elsie Hughes was worth it. All of it.

*

The doorbell rang and Isobel almost rushed to the door in haste to answer.  
She opened it to reveal a smiling Doctor Clarkson with a small bunch of colourful flowers.

"Good morning, love," he greeted her, placing a small kiss on her cheek.

Isobel moved her head the wrong way and ended up grazing her lips against his. Suddenly emboldened by his nearness, she entwined her fingers behind his neck and made him lower his head down to kiss him properly.

"Well, that was a welcome greeting," he commented, a smug smile on his lips.

Isobel laughed softly and kissed him again. This time Richard responded more eagerly to her attentions.  
When they pulled apart, she smiled at him again and took the flowers from his hands.

"Are these for me? Thank you, Richard."

"It's always a pleasure, dear."

She made her way to the kitchen and he placed his jacket and hat on the hall stand by the door.  
Three months before they had shared their first kiss and to him it seemed only yesterday.

She seemed to benefit from his presence and it couldn't make him happier.  
She had started laughing more often and even the dark cloud that overshadowed her eyes from time to time seemed to appear less and less and for that he was glad.  
He knew nothing could replace her son in her life but if something or someone could help to ease her pain, he was more than glad to be that someone.

Isobel returned from the kitchen with a small glass vase in which she had put the flowers and she motioned for him to follow her into the drawing room.  
She put the vase on the table in front of the settee and sat down admiring them.

"They're beautiful."

"I'm glad you like them."

"How has the morning gone?"

"Rather well, fortunately. We dismissed two patients from the hospital because they're fully recovered."

"That's good to hear."

After a moment of silence Isobel added, "Molesley told me you went to visit Mr Carson at the Abbey yesterday. Is he well?"

Richard looked at her, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Molesley met with Cousin Cora's new maid this morning and she told him he saw you yesterday."

"I see. Yes, I went to visit Mr Carson, but he's well, fortunately."

Seeing a frown appear on Isobel's forehead, he asked what was troubling her.

"It's just… oh, never mind."

"No please, Isobel, darling, tell me what's wrong."

Isobel looked around as if someone was overhearing their conversation. "Alright, I'll tell you, but please don't tell anyone."

"And who on Earth would I tell?" asked Richard.

Isobel ignored him. "It's about Mrs Hughes. We've grown rather close in these months, as you know, and she told me she has some… problems with Mr Carson."

"Does she?" he replied. This was getting more and more interesting. "What kind of problems?"

"Well, I'll make it short. He hasn't written to her during the Season as he used to and she is disappointed because they are good friends and have grown… quite close."

When Richard didn't speak, Isobel went on, "I understand as a butler he must have been very busy in London, but he surely could have spared a minute or two to write a letter to poor Elsie. Even a short one, I'm sure it would have made her happy."

"It's curious," Richard commented.

"What is?"

"They hung about each other for years and they still haven't noticed they're in love with one another."

"Elsie is clearly in love with him, I'm sure of it. I'm not sure about Mr Carson, but he certainly cares a lot for her. How can they be so blind about the whole situation, I wonder?"

"I don't think they're blind. I'd say neither of the two wants to make the first step towards the other."

"That's a pity. They just need …a little courage."

"Like you did?" he asked, remembering their first kiss.

"Like I did," agreed Isobel. He put his arms around her and kissed her tenderly.

"I just wish they could be as lucky as us. To have each other, I mean. Surely it's something worth fighting for."

"They'll solve the situation, you'll see," he said, kissing her head gently.

"I hope so," answered Isobel. "Oh, I really hope so."

* * *

**In the next chapter Charles will come into action.**

**An this is the part where I beg for some reviews while you wait for updates (?)**


	13. Resolving a Misunderstanding

**And here goes chapter thirteen, as I promised you.**

**My thanks go to Ame, a fantastic beta who now, unfortunately for me, won't be able to check my chapters again because she starts law school. A HUGE thanks and good luck to her!**

**Thank you for your kind reviews and thanks to Angie (fantasy-falacy-tumblingstone) who will pick up Ame's job.**

**I'll update hopefully next week. Have a good day!**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Resolving A Misunderstanding**

Charles descended the stairs and headed towards the servant's hall.  
He was in a foul mood because the morning hadn't gone well at all.

He had tried to sort things out with Mrs Hughes… again. He was determined to put this problem to rest. He even took the letters meant for her with him, but he hadn't had the chance to speak with her yet.

He must have stopped her ten times that morning, but she was busy with one household chore or another and she always found a way to avoid him.

He had first tried to speak with her just after breakfast, but she had excused herself saying she had to help the maids strip the beds the guests had used the night before.

He had stopped her again in the middle of the hallway, but she had her arms full of sheets and she continued on her way without even looking at him.

Next, he had tried to stop her in the kitchen (it'd been strangely empty) but Mrs. Patmore had returned within seconds with Daisy and Ivy.  
He had come back to the kitchen half an hour later only to find her still talking with Beryl.

Charles even introduced the subject during luncheon, but it fell on deaf ears, for she pretended not to know what he was talking about, again.

Now he had been looking for her upstairs, but she was nowhere to be seen.  
He grunted as he retired in his pantry, looking so fearsome that even Thomas didn't dare ask him what had happened.

That was enough, he thought. She was deliberately ignoring him.  
She was pushing him over the edge and she knew it.

She knew how much apologizing would cost to him and yet she was trying to make him beg on his knees or crawl on the floor.  
She knew he was truly sorry and yet she persisted in acting as if she hadn't a clue of what he was trying to tell her.

But he had no intention of giving up. No, sir.

He had given up too many times when it came to her.

He had just sat down to check the wine ledger when he heard Anna's voice in the hallway.  
"Mrs Hughes?"

"Yes, Anna?"

Her voice made him strain his ears.

"The other maids have hung the linen to dry, but there are dark clouds in the sky. I think it's going to rain."

He heard the shuffling of feet, maybe she had gone to the window to check. Then he heard her voice in the distance. "You're right, Anna, best if we gather up the linen. And quickly too."

He heard them going away and the sound of the back door opening and closing.  
He exited from his pantry, then he checked if there was anyone in the hallway before going to the window to look outside.

Anna was right, indeed. Dark clouds stood menacingly in the sky; it would rain cats and dogs shortly.

He saw them gathering the linen outside. The small form of Anna was moving swiftly between the white sheets hanging on the thread, pulling them down with the help of another woman, taller and more shapely, whom he recognized as Mrs. Hughes.

After Elsie carefully folded the sheets, she gave them to Anna and motioned for her to put them safely inside, while she resumed her work folding pillowcases and towels.

He decided almost instantly what to do. He went out at a determined pace. She was pulling down a quilt. "Mrs Hughes, may I speak with you?"

"Why, Mr Carson, if you ask it so politely I can't possibly refuse," she answered in a mocking tone, without even turning to face him.

He took a deep breath. That woman was playing with fire.

"So, Mr Carson, what did you want to tell me?" she demanded, rolling the 'r' of his surname.

Suddenly the words failed him "I… I wanted to…" he stumbled.

She snorted.

"Come on, old man," he thought.  
"I apologize, Mrs Hughes."

She almost laughed in his face. If he thought she would be playing his game he was mistaken. "What for, Mr Carson?"

"I apologize for… for what happened."

She continued to do her work, not looking at him. "What happened?" she asked, trying to sound unaware.

He inhaled sharply. "Why are you trying to make this difficult for me? I'm here for the fifth time in a few days, trying to apologize to you for what I've done, but you continue to ignore me or feign ignorance on the matter."

A thunder clap resounded in the sky above.

She fought not to let her surprise show. He had never talked to her in such a frank way.  
"Oh yes, Mr Carson, please forgive me, I didn't listen to you straight away when I should have. I'm all ears now."

She was mocking him again and Charles burst. "You insufferable woman! Who do you think you are?"

Her temper rose and she turned to face him. "I'm Elsie Hughes, Housekeeper of Downton Abbey! And pray, who made you holier than me?!"

The first drops of rain started falling.

"I will not tolerate you speaking to me in this tone, Mrs Hughes."

"And I don't care what you tolerate or not, Mr Carson. I'm sick of this, of all of this. I'm sick of you! You think you can simply come to me and apologize after all you've done to me. Just so you may return to sleep in peace at night because your conscience isn't clean!"

His eyes widened in shock. "You… you heard that…"

"Of course I heard your conversation with Doctor Clarkson, you daft man!"

"You didn't have the right!"

She snorted again. "I eavesdropped because, as always, I was concerned about you! But you have never noticed that, have you?"

"You should have come to me and asked me if I was well."

"_I_ should have come to _you_?" Her voice grew angrier. "After what you _did_?"

The rain started falling harder.

He was truly confused now. "What have I done?"

She sighed, suddenly tired. "I don't even know why I am still bothering with you, Mr Carson."

He stumbled in search for words. "I… I… You hadn't the right… You…"

She laughed bitterly and bit her lip to avoid start crying.  
Suddenly everything seemed to have lost its purpose. "You're right, Mr Carson. I didn't have the right. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He remained rooted on the spot while she turned away from him. His brain was working like mad.  
No, he couldn't let her go away or he wouldn't have the chance to explain himself and he would lose her.

He reached for her and grabbed her arm.  
She turned, surprised. The pillowcases she had folded carefully fell from her arms. He pulled at her and started dragging her to the bicycle shed.

"Mr Carson, where the… devil are you taking me?"

"Somewhere we can talk properly."

He opened the door and motioned for her to go inside.  
She obliged, almost frightened by him.

He closed the door with a soft bang. "Now. We can talk."

* * *

**What will happen next? Make your bets and leave a review in the meantime (?) **


	14. A Confrontation

**Hi there! I apologize for the delay. Really, I'm so sorry. A big thank you to my new beta, Angie (fantasy-fallacy-tumblingstone on Tumblr).**

**I hope the chapter is up to your expectations and thank you all for the reviews you left me, I literally adored reading them.**

**This chapter is dedicated to an user (I don't know why but when I write her username here it deletes itself!) whose review was very moving and almost made me cry. If this is what I can do to make you feel a little better, I'm glad of doing it.**

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: A Confrontation**

Elsie looked around, suddenly panicking.

He was standing between her and the closed door and they were surrounded by darkness except for a little window on her left, where the light came in almost timidly.

There was no way for her to escape the confrontation.

She let out a shuddering breath. "Charles Carson, let me go this instant," she hissed angrily.

His reply was surprisingly calm. "Not until you've listened to me completely."

"You let me go!" she spat. "I have work to do and you can't…"

He had to remain calm. He had to be the clear headed one now. "Where do you think you are going? It's raining cats and dogs outside."

Elsie stood on her tiptoes to look outside. He was right indeed: a fierce storm was raging outside of the bicycle shed.

She turned to face him and pointed at him with her forefinger. "You closed me up here, you… you insufferable man!"

Charles sighed. Oh, how much had he to bear, to see that situation to an end? "Mrs Hughes…" he tried to stop her.

She continued her tirade. "You brought me here so I could listen to you…"

"Mrs Hughes…" he almost pleaded.

"… bumbling your meaningless apologies!"

Her sentence was the final straw. "Elsie Hughes, will you listen to me?" he burst out exasperated, while shaking her slightly by the shoulders.

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth in surprise.

Charles realized he had exaggerated and tried to regain his composure.

His expression softened and he looked at her in the eyes. "Please, Mrs Hughes, I'm trying to explain myself to you."

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks and she averted her eyes, suddenly shy as a maid. She tried to focus on his hands on her arms, not knowing where to look.

He noticed that and released his grip on her reluctantly.

She almost let out a whimper of disappointment. Her skin burned where he had touched her.

Her voice croaked when she spoke. "Well then. Tell me what you have to, Mr Carson."

He took a deep breath. "Don't mess up now, man," he thought.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Hughes," he repeated again for the umpteenth time that day. "I really am. I know I should have written to you during the Season and the reason why I keep trying to talk to you is to tell you I did. I wrote to you."

Elsie held her breath. What? He had written to her? How? When?

He drew some letters out of his waistcoat pocket and she almost gasped in surprise.

Mr Carson handed them to her. "You see, I wrote to you. I didn't have a lot of free time but I found a few moments to write these. There are five of them."

She took the letters from his hands, at loss for words.

After several seconds, which to him seemed an eternity, she spoke again. "Why… why didn't you send them to me?"

And here he was, hidden in a bicycle shed with the woman he loved with an angry storm outside… trying to explain to her why he was so pigheaded and stupid.

"Because… because I'm not a brave man, Mrs Hughes, Elsie."

She didn't know how much it cost to him, calling her Elsie. Even if he had wanted to call her by her first name for years, it sounded strange on his lips. Strange, but sweet anyway.

Elsie opened her mouth but closed it after a while, unsure on what to say. It was the first time she heard her first name coming from him and it felt so nice and sweet... he had never crossed the line of propriety: to make such a bold move his butler sensor was probably going crazy in that moment.

After all, the mere fact they were closed in the bicycle shed together was crazy.

"I was afraid of making a wrong move and ruining our… friendship," he added, uncertain on what term was best to describe the relationship they had.

After a moment of silence a sparkle shone in her eyes, as if she had found something to say.

"You said you were afraid of ruining our friendship…"

"I did," he interrupted her.

"…but why, since writing to each other during the Season has always been part of our relationship in these years?"

"Because this year everything is different. A lot of things happened and they made me think."

Elsie thought of Lady Sybil's and Mr Crawley's death, of her cancer scare and all the difficulties they had gone through during that year but none of them seemed to have radically changed Mr Carson's beliefs and convictions, not to mention his behaviour towards her.

He seemed to have softened a little, yes, but that invisible barrier was still there, keeping them apart.

What was he referring to?

She suddenly realized they were standing closer than necessary. Closer than propriety should allow.

Oh, damn it. They had already thrown propriety to the wind.

Elsie looked at him in the eyes, fighting hard to maintain the courage she seemed to have found suddenly.

"And what did you think of?" she asked in a whisper.

He sighed aloud. "I thought… I thought of me. I thought of you, of us."

She could feel his warm breath on her face, his deep brown eyes set on hers.  
She couldn't help but shiver.

He had thought of her. He had thought of them. In which way? She hadn't the slightest idea.

Oh, she had thought of him and often. But had he thought of her in the same way?

"I see," she managed to reply, while hoping desperately he would explain everything more clearly.

Their bodies barely touched and she could hear the soft sound of his breathing, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was nervous, maybe just as nervous as she was.

Charles' mind was working like mad. He wanted so hard to spit it all out, to tell her everything, but something kept him from declaring his blinding love for her.

He wanted to break the matter to her gently, forever afraid of ruining the precious thing they had between each other, that sort of relationship made of little daily gestures and kindnesses as well as rows and quarrels typical of middle-aged married couples.

They spent almost all the day together, they shared confidences and supported each other just like a married couple would do. She cared for him and he cared for her, even if maybe not as much as her.

They lived and behaved almost like man and wife, with the difference of being unmarried, sleeping in different beds and that she hadn't a clue of his feelings towards her and probably would never know if he persisted in speaking his mind like that.

"A slight difference," he thought sarcastically.

Elsie Hughes was growing impatient. He didn't seem to have the intention of continuing his speech, instead he kept staring at her with a strange look in his eyes.

"Oh, this man!" she thought. "Must I take out all he has to say?"

It irked her to no end she had to take the initiative again, as always. But her heart softened at seeing him like this, with an expression of devotion and confusion on his face that made him look a little boy again.

She bit her lip. "And what have you realized?" she asked, her voice soft.

The sound of her voice brought him out of his reverie.

"I realized I love you. I love you so much it hurts me. This whole situation hurts me," he almost blurted out.

He cleared his throat and looked at her seriously, as if he was finally focusing on her person. "I realized I care about you more than I thought and…"

His throat tightened and words failed him.

He was standing close, oh so close to her. He could feel the warmth of her body and smell the scent of her hair… suddenly the bicycle shed felt stuffy.

"He cares about me? That's interesting," she thought, surprised.

"And?" she incited him gently.

He swallowed. "and I'm… I'm fond of you, Mrs.. Elsie."

She looked at him, blinking. "I see."

He couldn't resist and he put his hands on her arms, drawing her closer still. "Do you?" he asked, almost breathless. "Do you see, truly?"

His nearness was overwhelming. She had to breathe in deeply before answering. "I don't. Not really, Mr Carson."

"I'm fond of you," what could that possibly mean? Was he fond of her as a friend should be? It might be he was apologizing to her and showing he cared for her after all and that he had not forgotten her during the Season. Like a good friend should do.

A friend, nothing more.

He looked at her as if she was a ghost, an ectoplasm, something invisible and out of reach.

She didn't know if he was implying something more and she had no intention of putting everything at stake to reveal her love for him.

"I don't… know how to put it…" he stumbled.

"Well, in this case it may be better if you don't say anything," she offered in a low voice.

"Yes. Maybe," he replied uncertainly, speaking more to himself than to her.

Elsie pulled away from him gently and he let her.

She looked outside the window but the rain was still falling down hard. "We won't go out for a while I'm afraid."

Charles took his jacket off and put it on the floor, then motioned for her to sit down on it. "We'll wait then," he announced.

After she had sat down he followed her.

"I'm sorry to have shut you in here with a grumpy old butler," he apologized.

"I don't mind," she replied, waving her hand slightly to minimize it. "As long as the grumpy old butler behaves himself."

He chuckled. "He will."

"Will you read my letters?" Charles asked after a moment of silence, looking at her with such a hopeful boyish expression she couldn't help but smile.

"I will, Mr Carson. I promise."

He smiled at that and Elsie's heart fluttered in her chest.

Suddenly feeling bold, Charles reached out for her and took her hand in his.

She gasped in surprise but didn't pull back, instead she squeezed his hand.

And in that moment Charles Carson knew that, one day or another, all his issues would come to an end.

* * *

**Don't kill me Chelsie shippers, but I couldn't make them kiss, not yet anyway. Several matters aren't sorted out yet. Chapter fifteen is on its way, I promise not to make you wait so much this time! **

**Thank you for sticking with me. [Insert shameless plea for a review here]**


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